


Zorro and the Old Comandante, by Eugene H. Craig

by bookscape



Category: Zorro (TV 1957)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 216,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscape/pseuds/bookscape
Summary: Just who is Capitan Monastario's temporary replacement?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just who is Capitan Monastario's temporary replacement?

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**After a long wait, here is another wonderful story from Eugene Craig. And it is definitely worth the wait. This has all the elements we have come to love and expect from his stories, plus much, much more. Bon appetit!**  
---  
  
Chapter One

He really wasn’t old, just old-fashioned. He walked slowly, some said leisurely, and he spoke softly. His face under his wispy beard was pockmarked. Some of his distracters called him one of the Three Musketeers because of how he wore his moustache, beard, and hair. His brown hair was longer than what had become the shorter military fashion in some circles. His eyes were an indeterminate blue because he always looked sleepy. He was the average height for a Spaniard in these times, about five foot four. Generally, he was very calm, but if angered, he would grasp the hilt of his saber and pull it out of the scabbard about two or three inches. Nobody was in any doubt that he would use it because it was rumored that he had once been a military instructor in the use of the blade.

Even his name was old-fashioned – Alfonso Fernando Francisco de las Fuentes y Alarcón. Like all the men in the officer corps before the time of Bonaparte, he was from the nobility. His polite manners seemed very formal and exaggerated to the young people who would smile knowingly behind his back after being introduced. His compliments were flowery and loaded with imagery that only the older women seemed to relish. On the other hand, he was also a crack shot with a pistol and an accomplished horseman. He knew all the old dances and enjoyed music in a contemplative manner although he professed to know nothing about musical instruments. He spent his spare time either reading books or, on occasion, in church. Some said he actually slept in church rather than prayed, but the fact that he was there, in and of itself, left a positive impression.

In contrast to his unassuming character and soft manner of speaking, he had a deep baritone voice. On the few occasions when he sang in church, the congregation would find themselves reduced to muteness as they listened to his voice that seemed to take them to a level of unattainable professionalism in its sheer level of control, sincerity, and grandness. An enthusiastic priest in Lima once remarked to him that he would love to have him as a choir of one. The captain seemed embarrassed at the compliment and remarked that God would prefer a fugue to a lone voice in the wilderness.

The army command in the colonies of Spanish América found this officer, who called himself simply Francisco de las Fuentes, an enigma, albeit a charming one. Well, it would be more accurate to say that those in charge considered him very eccentric. When asked for his analysis, his answers seemed more to confound than provide clarity and this was deemed inexpedient to those wanting quick solutions to difficult problems. Nevertheless, he seemed to have friends in high places in Spain and when he asked for very little, which was not very often, he got it. Those who held higher rank, and who did not know him, often puzzled over his influence, but his lack of ambition to use such influence was more to his benefit. The better ones believed he was just a modest man. So, when he transferred to the Américas, it was assumed that he had requested it.

The political turmoil in the American colonies of Spain was reaching such a level of crisis that the comandantes in California were summoned to a secret conference in Monterey to discuss the situation. The Comandante of Los Angeles, Capitán Enrique Monastario Sánchez, was one of those attending the conference at which the governors, both past and present, viceroys, and other officials of the Spanish colonial government would debate and decide, if they could, the political course for California.

It had been assumed that Sergeant Demetrio García López would temporarily take the place of his commanding officer in Los Angeles during his absence, but Capitán Monastario thought otherwise and requested that an officer be appointed until his return. His replacement had not yet arrived when he departed for Monterey, admonishing García of the consequences if he found affairs amiss in Los Angeles upon his return. Just before leaving town, Capitán Monastario had ordered the arrest of some local men for allegedly being in arrears of paying their taxes and other crimes, and had thrown them in jail. The very afternoon of his departure he ordered a few lashings of the ones who protested the most. The men's relatives came to the cuartel to plead on their behalf, only to be driven off by the soldiers. So, it was with a great deal of apprehension that the sergeant awaited the arrival of the officer, one Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes.

It was pouring rain and late at night when a lone rider arrived at the gates of the cuartel. His cape was soaked through and his hat was dripping from the downpour. The soldiers saluted him and made haste to summon Sergeant García who had gone to the tavern for a drink. Meanwhile the officer turned his mount over to a soldier and instructed him to dry the horse and put a blanket over him. He instructed another soldier to carry his leather travel bag into the Oficina del Comandante and he himself carried a small pouch inside. Within the pouch was a loaded pistol, kept dry from the rain, in case of an attack by bandits or who knows what kind of demons or spirits in human form.

The officer stepped onto the porch of the comandante’s office and paused to look at the green plants that decorated the entrance. He then opened the door and stepped into the candle-lit office. His eyes took in the small comforts that availed themselves to the man he was temporarily replacing, and he nodded. He stood there several minutes as if lost in thought before Corporal Reyes came in through the door behind him.

"Capitán de las Fuentes?" he inquired, saluting. He saw that the officer was dripping and had made no attempt to remove his cape or hat. "May I help you?"

The officer turned his gaze to the corporal. "Thank you, Corporal. My compliments for your courtesy." He shrugged off his wet garments as the soldier took them and hung them up on wall hooks near the door. "It is a little damp out, is it not?"

Reyes looked puzzled a moment. "It’s pouring rain, Señor Capitán!"

The officer had a twinkle in his eye, but he took the soldier’s comment in the innocence it was meant. "What is your name, son?"

"Reyes, Señor Capitán."

"Corporal Reyes, were you put in charge of the cuartel until my arrival?" the officer asked.

"Oh, no, Señor," Reyes responded. "Sergeant García is in charge. I mean, he was in charge until your arrival just now. He should be here very soon." The corporal paused. "Would you like me to show you to your quarters?"

"Yes, please do so," De las Fuentes replied. He looked around the office, noting the plants and paintings. "Your commanding officer has good taste. All he needs are some fresh flowers on the desk to go with the model cannon."

Reyes was puzzled by the comment. When officers said strange things it was best to remain silent. He led the way to the small set of steps that led to the comandante’s private quarters and opened the door. "In here, Señor Capitán."

The officer took the stairs slowly, entered his temporary quarters, and noted the darkness. "Get a few more candles to brighten up this room, won’t you, Corporal?" he asked, more in the manner of a casually issued order rather than a request. "And we’ll need a fire in the fireplace."

"Sí, mi Capitán!" Reyes responded, putting the officer’s bag down on the floor and walking out with the only candle, leaving De las Fuentes in darkness.

The officer sighed audibly and set his pouch down on the bed. His clothes were quite damp and he was beginning to sense a slight chill, the kind of chill that comes late at night when one feels tired, wet, and cold. There was barely any light coming in from the high room window that overlooked a street outside the cuartel. He began to unbuckle his saber belt when he heard a commotion out in the office. But rather than step back out into the other room, he listened to what the noise was all about.

The door to the comandante’s office banged open and Sergeant García entered the room breathlessly. "Comandante?" he queried looking around. All he saw was Corporal Reyes rummaging through a cabinet and it’s drawers.

Reyes glanced over at him and kept searching for the candles. He took out two and stuck them in candleholders while García watched him curiously.

"Corporal Reyes, what are you doing?" he asked in an impatient tone of voice.

"I’m looking for candles, Sergeant," Reyes answered.

"Well, where is the Comandante?"

"He’s in Monterey, Sergeant," the corporal replied, standing the candle holders upright on the shelf of the cabinet. He lit both of them from the tallow he carried.

"I know that, stupid. What I mean is, where is the _new,_ the temporary Comandante?" García responded in exasperation. "Hugo told me that he just arrived."

"Oh," Reyes responded. "He’s in the Capitan’s quarters."

García looked toward the open door and saw that it was dark. "Did he go to bed already? It’s dark in there."

"Oh, he told me to get some more candles to light up the room."

"And you took the only candle in there?" García was annoyed. "There is plenty of light out here, baboso. Hurry up and I hope he’s not upset at your stupidity." He followed the corporal to the small steps that led to the comandante’s quarters.

Reyes tapped on the open door timidly. "Oh, Capitán, I have some more candles for you. May I come in?"

"Enter," was the calm baritone response. The voice was so authoritative and impressive in the dark that García imagined a bear of a man at least as tall as Capitán Monastario.

The officer was standing where Reyes had left him but had removed his saber and laid it on the bed. He watched García turn his bulk to get in through the door. As soon as he spotted the officer he came to attention and saluted. "Sergeant Demetrio García López reporting as requested, Comandante!" He then lowered his eyes considerably in surprise to the small man opposite him who was removing his gauntlets.

With the room lit, the officer looked around again. "At ease, Sergeant. I trust I did not disturb you late this evening?"

"Oh, no, Comandante. I was only over at the tavern having a little refreshment," García told him.

"Ah," De las Fuentes commented. "If it would not trouble you too much, I would like to have a hot bath drawn up. I’ll also need my spare uniform tended to. It got damp in the travel bag. And what I’m wearing will need to be washed and dried."  
  
"At once, Comandante," the sergeant replied. He looked at the leather bag. "Is this all that you brought with you?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, the carriage broke down and my box won’t get here for a day or so," the captain replied. "Perhaps Capitán Monastario has a few items I might borrow." He gestured casually for the sergeant to open the armoire door.

"Oh, sí, Señor, right in here." García opened the armoire and took out a robe for the officer. It was a long, luxurious dressing gown of blue with a dark collar.

De las Fuentes took the robe and held it up. "Tell me something, Sergeant García. Did the cuartel of Los Angeles inherit the tallest and stoutest men in the Spanish Army?"

"Oh, no, Comandante," García smiled. "Only Capitán Monastario and I are the tall ones. Everyone else is little." He watched the officer remove his tunic.

That statement amused De las Fuentes, but he was cold and wanted to retire for the evening. He handed García his uniform jacket. When he turned his back a moment, García handed it to Reyes who had finished lighting the logs in the fireplace. De las Fuentes watched Reyes fold his jacket. "Very well, Sergeant," the captain concluded, "I bid you a pleasant good evening."

Within an hour the new Comandante wrapped himself in the luxurious robe and got ready to climb into bed. The hot bath had restored his spirits and he felt warm and comfortable. His temporary command would be an interesting one, he thought, and the routine of Los Angeles would be like all the rest. He blew out the other candles and placed the last one by the bed. After he climbed in, he sat up and blew out the candle. He moved himself down under the sheet and pulled the blanket over his head. Within minutes he fell into a deep sleep.

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle and the winds had died down for a short while. But outside, two eyes watched the light in the officer’s room go out and a black horse stepped out of the shadows and headed toward the cuartel.

*****************************

He was riding down the wide dirt road on a sunny day and there was a parade going past him in the opposite direction. He saw a large number of people that he knew, from the king and his ministers, to several generals in the army’s high command. And mixed in with them was a herd of sheep and goats, camp followers and assorted rude people. He knew that he was headed in the right direction because he could see the church in the distance, but everyone else seemed headed in the other direction. He attempted to hail one of his former aides, "I say there, Machado, the wedding is at the church - over there. Where is everyone going?" But he was ignored.

Why is it that I always feel like Don Quixote but without my Sancho Panza? he thought.

He continued riding towards the church. It seemed deserted at first, but then he heard the voices of children and rode around the back towards the graveyard. When he got to the back he saw an assortment of youngsters all dressed in regal finery, dogs and cats, and even pigs racing all around as if playing games with each other. Even the animals were dressed elegantly. He tried to stop one of the children. "Dear child, where is the wedding party?" All he heard in answer was laughter. Then a dog walked on his hind legs and hailed him with the words "Welcome, Prince. Are you here for the wedding? But, hurry, the bride is about to be wed."

He dismounted quickly telling the dog, "This is my wedding, I’ll have you know. Where is my bride, Isabel?" The dog took him over to a table laden with food, drinks, flowers, and what looked like a pile of gold coins. _Perhaps His Majesty left these for us_ , he thought. When he picked one up and examined it, it was nothing but a piece of lead that looked like it had been shot out of a cannon. Then one of the cats jumped up on the table and began to lap wine out of a crystal goblet. De las Fuentes watched him curiously thinking how odd it was that someone would train a cat to drink fine wine. He lifted up a glass himself but it tasted like water.

Then someone shouted, "Hail the bride and groom," and he looked up, smiling. To his consternation he saw his Isabel walking with another man and people were tossing flowers at them. _What the devil!_ he thought and took out his sword to challenge the man.

Isabel, looking dazzling in white silk and flashing jewels, her long auburn hair peeking out from underneath her wedding train, waved at him. She was thin and her face was gaunt as in death. He was shocked by her appearance. "She almost looks dead," he said to the man at her side who held a staff in his hand and wore a carnival facemask. De las Fuentes no longer carried his sword in his hand, but a bouquet of beautiful flowers instead. Isabel stood there smiling as he approached. "Fernando, oh my Fernando," she croaked and took the flowers which suddenly looked dead.

"Isabel, dear," he asked her urgently. "What is happening? What happened to you?"

She began to laugh and poked him with the dead flowers. She continued hitting at him with the dead flowers and it began to annoy him because, damn, that hurt, and why should dead flowers start hurting?

**********************

He opened his eyes. It was dark. The blanket was still pulled over his head. He listened a moment as if he had heard something. Someone softly spoke the words "Comandante? Wake up! I need to have a word with you!" Then, there it was again, the unmistakable prick of the tip of a sword. De las Fuentes became very annoyed. Without even moving, he raised his voice. "My dear Sir, if you do not remove the point of your sword from my posterior, I shall become quite angry."

The result was instantaneous. The point was removed. "Ah, good," he acknowledged and turned over on his other side. He meant to resume his sleep when he felt the tapping of a blade against his shoulder.

De las Fuentes threw back the blanket and struggled to sit up in bed. Someone had lit a candle. To his surprise he saw the figure of a man dressed in black standing a few feet away with a sword in his hand. A mask covered half of the man’s face. He perceived that the stranger was just as surprised to see him. Obviously he was expecting someone else in the bed. The captain looked his visitor over and said in a grumpy voice. "My regular office hours are from nine in the morning to one in the afternoon. After siesta, they then resume from three to five. If I am not in, then you will have to make an appointment."

The masked man opposite him laughed lightly. "My humble apologies, Comandante. I was actually looking to have a word with Capitán Monastario."

"Humph," replied De las Fuentes. "If you were looking to rob the man, then you should know he is not here at the present. However, if you have come to rob me, you will find there are twenty-five pesos in the top drawer of the dresser. That is all that I have."

The man in black gave him a wide smile. "I’m pleased to see that Capitán Monastario’s replacement has a sense of humor. However, I am not here to rob you. I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but while I am here I need to inform you that there is an urgent matter at hand that you should give your immediate attention to in the morning."

"Oh, very well," De las Fuentes grumbled, straightening up a little but still managing to look very sleepy. "You only interrupted a bad dream and I keep on having it, over and over again, like a windmill turning endlessly. You’re not a sorcerer or a warlock are you? Why are you dressed in this costume?"

The man opposite him sheathed his sword. "No, Capitán, I am not a sorcerer. I am called ‘El Zorro.’ My mission here tonight is to seek justice."

"Ah, an assassin," De las Fuentes responded. "I should have known that someone, sooner or later, would try to dispose of me. I keep telling people the truth and they don’t want to hear it. I remember the time when our troops were outside of Madrid facing the French and I told General Ordañez that he needed to cover his flanks and he refused to listen because he was, and still is, a pompous ghoul of a man. Imagine, the seventh child of a degenerate aristocrat questioning _me_. Then there was the time I analyzed the reasons for the defeat of our armies in the North. Nobody wanted to listen and they still do not want to listen. They don’t want to listen because they don’t care and when you don’t care it is the beginning of the end of everything. I suppose if that is what you are here for, then I will tell you that I prefer to die in uniform - but it is quite wet which is most inconvenient. It really doesn’t matter whether you shoot me or dispatch me with the sword. At least I won’t keep having this damn dream."

The man called El Zorro listened with interest to his words and became solemn. "No, Capitán," he said at last. "I am not an assassin. As I told you, I am here to seek justice because there are some men in Los Angeles who are in need of it. I am impressed with your words about people caring or not caring to hear the facts. If you are the man that I think you are, then you will see to it that justice can be done while you are here."

"It’s been a long time since I heard the word ‘justice’ uttered with such passion," the officer commented, rubbing his eyes with his fists, yawning, and then blinking in the candlelight as it flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls. "As you must know, the word means one thing to some men and something else to others."

"That is true," replied the man in black. "But the entire concept of justice is about what is fair, what is righteous and what is good for the majority. Those who twist the word ‘justice,’ like Capitán Monastario does, mean something that benefits them first. That is not the kind of justice I am seeking."

De las Fuentes pondered the man’s words for some moments. "I see that you are a philosopher, Señor, and that is something that appeals to me because many men do not seek the truth, but seek, instead, to justify their own actions, twisting words and meanings into something they were never meant to be. Believe me, I have seen this done for years at Court and on the General Staff - tactics used by every scoundrel to advance himself and to smote others. It is something I have grown weary of watching and being unable to influence. However, since you are here, please do me the courtesy of handing me the writing board and quill. There is some parchment behind you in a drawer of the table. If you would be so kind, it would also help to have another candle lit."

The man, who called himself El Zorro, was amused by the ceremonious way he was actually ordered to obtain the items, but to expedite matters, he cheerfully complied with the request. "Here you are, Señor," he said, placing them on the table next to the bed. "And of course, the inkpot."

"Ah," responded the officer, taking the board and parchment and putting them on his lap over the blanket. "Why don’t we set that candle right here next to me. Although I would prefer to be introduced in a more formal setting, this will have to do. You may address me as ‘Capitán’ or ‘Capitán de las Fuentes’. You need not use my other titles." He paused, dipping the quill in the inkpot. "Now, give me the names of those you believe need justice and summarize the charges against them."

The man in black named the seven men who had been arrested by Capitán Monastario, the reasons for their arrests, and the extra punishments meted out to them. "These men are innocent of many of the charges and it would be expedient for you to release them as soon as possible," he told the man in bed who finished writing.

"Young man," De las Fuentes replied, "you must understand my position. These men have been arrested and charged. While I am noting your protestations of their innocence, I must proceed in a legal manner. Your recommendations, under circumstances that would be deemed inappropriate, must have substance to them. All you have done is to give me your interpretation of the events." He paused. "I cannot make a judgment at the moment based on your opinions. However, I suggest that the best thing to do is for other witnesses to appear at the cuartel tomorrow, or over the next day or two, to give testimony. I shall require the masters or employers of the men, character witnesses, reputable acquaintances, relatives, or even the local priest, to appear. On my part, I shall examine any records in this office that could deny or substantiate the charges."

"Capitán de las Fuentes, it is a pleasure doing business with a man who may be quite exceptional in the holding of this office," El Zorro told him.

The small man in the blue robe merely nodded as if not really believing the stranger’s words. "Ah," he replied. "Flattery will get you nowhere. I am used to all the sycophants at Court trying to tell me what I already know. A true officer of the Crown knows his duty, which is not only his, but a responsibility to others. It is the duty of every prince to see that the laws are applied justly and obeyed. If he does not do this, then he is a charlatan, an imposter, a fraud, and a disgrace to his heritage, to his parents, to his grandparents, and to all his ancestors since the beginning of time."

"I believe that would just about reach back to Adam and Eve, Capitán," commented the man in black with a cheerful smile. He was greatly amused by the antiquated style of speech of the man in the bed.

"Ah-hem, if you will allow me to finish, Señor Zorro," the officer continued. "It is ultimately a question of honor - and honor, separated from duty, and honor, separated from self, is and must be perceived as one in the same, and not at all a concept removed or distanced from present or past actions. It is the whole and the culmination of the parts of one’s nobility, and one’s sense of those blessings, which were placed upon this office and, yes, even upon the title, of one’s social obligations, to the vast and numerous essences of the population as a whole who, like children, are unable to make the kind of decisions, based upon careful and intelligent reflections of events, circumstances and historical context, which is thrust upon us, the noble class. We, therefore, must take seriously any and all sundry forms of punitive, silly, ridiculous, absurd, or fundamentally flawed accusations or insinuations against all members of the lower classes that could, may, or possibly, hinder or harm our social relations, so that they may be fundamentally discharged at our discretion, hopefully in an expedient or timely manner in order to ultimately satisfy or at least rectify some or all of the charges or accusations made against them. It is of the essence that social relations between the classes be dealt with in a manner that is deemed appropriate and impartial by the accused as well as the accuser and done in a manner that preserves the essence of law and, what is fundamental, the continuing respect for and obedience to the laws of the kingdom, of God, and of the social order under which we live and prosper. In addition…."

"Capitán de las Fuentes," interrupted El Zorro once again. "Pardon me, but you must admit that, under the circumstances, it would be expedient for me to leave now so that you could get a good night’s sleep. I think that I have supplied you with all the main points so that you can commence your research. That way you can start first thing in the morning. The speed at which justice is carried out is just as important as the fact that justice is accomplished, don’t you think ?"

"Ah," responded the officer. "I believe that I made that point. Why is it that you young people are so impatient? It seems that common courtesy and good manners evaporate like dew on the grass, like a shooting star across the heavens, or like the fragrance of a rose before it withers and dies. It’s practically disrespect, you know. And what’s worse is that those of noble blood have also picked up this modern disregard for exactitude and poignant representation. There was a time when learnedness and wholesome speech were considered to be an art form to be studied, mastered, and applied, so all of those, whose ears were touched by the words of erudition and knowledge, would know and understand the fact that they stood in the presence of those whose respect for, indeed worship of, the masters of literary accomplishment, could be expressed timelessly for the pleasure and appreciation of all…"

"I mean no disrespect, Capitán de las Fuentes, and I agree entirely with your sentiments!" the man in black grinned, backing away towards the open window. "I wish you more pleasant dreams between now and sunrise. Adios, Señor Comandante."

The man in the comandante’s bed watched his visitor depart with alacrity through the open window of his quarters and, afterwards, heard the departure of a horse from under the window. "’More pleasant dreams’ – humph," he snorted. "God willing – for a change." He set aside the quill, writing board and paper on the table next to the bed and sat back a few moments to contemplate all that had passed. He sighed and decided not to summon the guard and ask how it was that the window had not been secured or how it was that his nocturnal visitor had aroused no one else. He scratched at his wispy beard, at his moustache, and decided he would have the sergeant and corporal get all the records out while he had breakfast. As for going back to sleep, it was not something he looked forward to. It was that damn dream and it always came back, almost every night and he hated sleeping because it seemed to be the only dream he ever had. If he could only fall into a dreamless sleep so he wouldn’t be so tired the next day. He leaned back on the pillows and watched the tallow candle burn down a while before leaning forward and blowing it out. It was almost dawn when he finally fell asleep and into the escape that he had hoped for.

***********************************  
  
---


	2. New Page 1

New Page 1

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Two**

The knocking on the door was incessant. After a long time, it went a way. There was blissful silence for a while and then the drumming began again, this time very forcefully. Once again it stopped. Then there was someone’s voice, almost in his ear, speaking very urgently. He could not block it out.

"He won’t wake up, Sergeant," said a man. "Do you think he died?"

"Here, let me try," replied another. There was a pause. Then a melodious voice began to entreat him, "Capitán? Oh, Capitán, it’s time to get up. It’s getting quite late and there are people beginning to gather outside the cuartel to see you." Another pause. "Capitán? Oh, Capitán?" The voice moved away. "He was all right last night. Maybe you are right, maybe he died during the night."

"How can we tell, Sergeant? The blanket covers up his head. Do you think we ought to shake him or hit him? Maybe we could try punching him. Punching helps wake up the drunks."

"What’s the matter with you, Corporal? Don’t you know you could be arrested for striking an officer?"

"Well, Sergeant, if he’s dead…."

De las Fuentes decided he had better wake himself up. He moaned and began to move his legs and shoulders. He turned on his back and pulled the blanket slowly down so that his eyes peered out into the bright light that filled the room. "I assure you that I am most certainly **_not_** dead, Corporal!" he declared. His baritone almost made the words sound like a threat, although he did not mean for it to do so. He struggled to sit up in bed. "How is it that it is morning so soon?" He squinted in the bright light.

"Well, Capitán, it is morning because it is morning. The sun has risen, the rain clouds have gone away, and the sky is quite blue," answered the sergeant cheerfully. "And you will be pleased to know that Corporal Reyes has your uniform all clean and dry. He even cleaned and dried your hat, your drawers, your foot coverings, and your boots."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. "Most efficient of you. I remember that my personal servant, Muñoz, was such a man. Let’s see how well you’ve done." He rose out of bed gingerly, examined the clothing that had been draped over a chair and was pleased to see how spotless everything was. "Have you ever been a man servant, Reyes?" he asked.

"No, Comandante," Reyes answered, "but I’ve had a lot of practice in the army."

"Good," replied the captain. "Now Sergeant, why don’t we expedite matters. Send to the inn for a good hearty breakfast for me and have it brought here to the office. Then, I want you to get out all the records of the men under arrest in the jail. I want to see the tax receipts as well. Put all the records on my desk. I will need to study them before meeting with the petitioners outside the gates of the cuartel."

"At once, Comandante!" García saluted him and began to leave. Then it dawned on him. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to the officer. "Begging your pardon, Capitán," he began, "but how did you know about the men under arrest in the jail? No one has had time to brief you."

"Ah," said De las Fuentes. "I am not just an ordinary officer of the Crown, Sergeant García. I am a prince. We princes are not like common men. We know things that we must know and that we should know because it is for this, and sundry other reasons, that we have been appointed by God. Since it is our duty to look into all matters that pertain to my temporary command here in Los Angeles, it is pertinent that I have foresight, even insight, into such affairs. And some things just come to me, even in the middle of the night, from the most unexpected nuances or even spirits. If there are subjects of the king gathering outside the gates of the cuartel seeking an audience with me, then it is most certainly necessary to act expeditiously in order to expedite the matters at hand."

García was very impressed by this extraordinary explanation, saluted again, and left in a hurry. Only Reyes remained in the room. He was staring at the officer in awe.

"Yes, Corporal Reyes?" De las Fuentes inquired.

"Your pardon, Comandante, I mean, Your Excellency. Are you a _real_ prince? I mean, I….I really wasn’t going to punch you, Your Worship…I didn’t know if you were dead or not, Your Highness, I…" Reyes fell on his knees before the officer, took one of his hands and kissed it.

De las Fuentes was actually pleased at this display by a humble subject but he cleared his throat. "Yes, I am, Corporal Reyes. Well, get off your knees and help me into my uniform. I won’t be able to get ready in time if we just stand here and you remain on the floor." He gently pried his hand loose from Reyes’ grasp. "Ah, you don’t need to kiss the hand, Reyes. It’s not a holy relic. A salute will do in His Majesty’s army."

*************************

Don Alejandro de la Vega was becoming impatient. He strode up and down outside the gates of the cuartel. Three of his vaqueros had been arrested the day before and he was furious. "What is taking so long? Undoubtedly Monastario is keeping us waiting just to make the situation worse!"

Don Diego de la Vega, who had accompanied his father into Los Angeles, watched his father calmly. "Perhaps there is a good reason for the delay, Father. After all, Capitán Monastario must present proof that these men have been arrested for a good reason."

"Bah!" his father exclaimed. "Capitán Monastario never has any proof for what he does. He is just vindictive and manipulative. But this time ** _, I_** have the proofs to put in his face. We’ll see just whom…."

At that moment, Sergeant García appeared at the gates. "Attention! Attention!" he called out in a loud voice. "All petitioners to see the comandante please form a line. Our comandante will examine each case, one at a time. The first case to be heard will be that of Juan Valdez. All petitioners here for Juan Valdez may enter the cuartel."

There was a rush of relatives and friends to the gates of the cuartel. García had them form a line and began to take them inside the fortress.

"Valdez? Why is he taking the Valdez case first?" fumed Alejandro. "We were first in line here this morning and we should have gone first!"

Diego looked thoughtful. "Well, Father, it does make sense. After all, Juan was the first arrested, so it would seem appropriate that his case is the first to be heard."

"I’m surprised that Monastario is conducting this farce at all," Alejandro continued. "He would be more practical just to fine those he falsely arrested and get the extortion over and done with."

It was about a half an hour later when a great commotion was heard within the cuartel. Alejandro was conversing with the blacksmith, González, whose son, Pepe, had also been arrested. He held up a hand. " _Now_ what is happening?" He began to approach the gates of the cuartel with his son, Diego, the blacksmith, and others, when a flood of people streamed past them laughing and cheering. In their midst was the vaquero, Juan Valdez, who had a big smile on his face. "God bless the Comandante!" he shouted.

Alejandro de la Vega turned to his son with a look of surprise on his face. " _What_ did he say?" He pulled over one of the men passing by who was waving his hands. "What happened? What was the verdict?"

The man removed his hat. "Don Alejandro," he acknowledged. "Wonderful news! Juan is innocent! He was falsely accused! The comandante awarded him ten pesos for having been wrongfully imprisoned! This is real justice. Oh, excuse me, Don Alejandro. We are going to the tavern to celebrate." With that the man hastened after the rest of the crowd.

"What did he say?" the white-bearded don repeated, looking bewildered.

"He said that Juan was found innocent and was rewarded ten pesos for having been wrongfully imprisoned, Father," Diego explained.

The blacksmith, González, also looked amazed at the news. "What can this mean, Don Alejandro?" he asked.

"Perhaps the comandante has become a new man," Diego suggested with a smile. The young don looked up as Sergeant García suddenly appeared at the gates of the cuartel. Diego gestured towards the soldier. "It’s the next case."

"Attention! Attention!" García called out in a loud voice. "All petitioners to see the comandante please form a line. Our comandante will examine each case, one at a time. The second case to be heard will be that of Pepe González. All petitioners here for Pepe González may enter the cuartel."

"That’s my boy," exclaimed the blacksmith heading toward the sergeant. "Wish us luck!"

******************

The news spread quickly from the tavern as the freed vaquero gave his account of the proceedings. As the bottles began to accumulate on the tables in the tavern, so did various interpretations of the events begin to spread as well. By early afternoon, many residents of Los Angeles began to linger around the plaza just to get a glimpse of those who were freed pouring through the gates of the cuartel with happy tidings.

Father Felipe heard the news as well. He had hurried across the plaza to the gates of the cuartel in order to be called as a character witness for two mission Indians who had been arrested. Outside the garrison’s walls he encountered Don Alejandro de la Vega who was still quite vexed that the case of his three vaqueros had not yet been called.

"Good morning, Padre Felipe," Don Alejandro greeted the priest. "The case of Juan and Ignacio was already called some time ago."

"Good morning, Don Alejandro, Don Diego," replied the priest. "I heard the most extraordinary news about the two men released, Juan Valdez and Pepe González. Is it true that the comandante awarded Juan ten pesos for false imprisonment? How astonishing. I hope that all my prayers for Capitán Monastario have finally born fruit."

"Either that or he has gone mad," smiled the white-bearded man, still shaking his head in disbelief at the turn of events, "but you seem to be in a hurry, Padre."

Felipe sighed, "Knowing Capitán Monastario’s tendency to start trials early and conclude them even faster, I wanted to get here early. But one of my parishioners came with a personal problem and I had to stay with her quite a while. Then her parents showed up and I had to consult with them as well."

"Not Señorita Margarita again?" asked the don.

"Yes," replied the priest. "And the same problem it has been for the last ten years."

"Ah, what problem is that, Father?" asked Diego in a mystified tone. "The last thing I heard was that she walked off a ship at San Pedro and refused to go back to Spain."

Padre Felipe was looking anxiously towards the gates of the cuartel. "Please forgive me if I leave you, but I want to see if I can get inside to provide any support to the men under arrest."

"Of course, Padre," both the De la Vegas responded and bowed to the priest.

Felipe approached one of the soldiers and, surprisingly, was admitted at once.

Don Alejandro shook his head as he watched. "I wonder what Monastario is up to."

"Now, Father," Diego queried. "What is the latest news about Margarita?"

"My son, it is the same story year after year. She has refused yet another marriage proposal. Her parents are in despair. She is now twenty-eight. Her younger sisters are all married. Don Sebastián told me that she refused to go to Spain because she found out that he had arranged for her marriage there. He thinks perhaps she wants to become a nun."

"You know, Father, I don’t think Margarita wants that at all. She has no interest in becoming a nun. What she wants is to be in love with a man before she marries him and, so far, she is not interested in any of the men who have spoken to her father."

The white-bearded man smiled at his son. "You must know something that no one else knows, Diego. But Margarita will find that if she waits too long, then she will no longer have the kind of choice she has now. She is a handsome young woman presently, but it may not last forever."

"You know, Father, I don’t think you are giving Margarita enough credit. She knows that men are attracted to her beauty, but they don’t seem very interested in getting to know her beyond that. I think she finds that offensive."

His father laughed lightly. "A man usually gets to really know his wife after he is married to her, Diego. The same is true for the lady. As for meeting with her and becoming acquainted - that is what the courtship is for. But Margarita won’t even give her suitors the time of day to get to know her and that is why many of them just ask her father and then, hope for the best. She’s almost a hopeless case."

Diego shook his head. "I don’t think anyone is a hopeless case, Father."

"Not even Capitán Monastario?" his father teased him. Then he became serious again. "Sebastián thinks that Margarita does not want to grow up. Her friends are all unmarried girls and she dresses and acts like they do, not like the woman she has become."

"Padre Felipe once told me that in this world there is someone for everyone," Diego said. "I’d like to think that applies to everyone, including Margarita."

"Margarita seems to like you a lot, Diego," Alejandro pointed out. "And I still have my hopes up for you."

Diego chuckled. "Margarita trusts me, Father, because of the fact that I am a good friend. I think that’s what she needs, just someone she can talk to and who will listen. As for me, well, Margarita is beautiful and charming, but she’s not really my type. She also told me that, while she values me as a friend, I am not exactly her type either."

Alejandro just shrugged his shoulders at that. He gestured toward the gates of the cuartel. "This may take a while," he said, changing the subject. "Why don’t we go over to the inn for some lunch? It is almost one and I think that the comandante will probably want to take his lunch as well."

"The rumor is that he said that his office hours are from nine to one today," Diego said. "He might even take a siesta. I will even bet you a bottle of wine on that."

Alejandro smiled. "If you are making a wager against me, Diego, I think that you must know something that I don’t know."

Diego only grinned at that. "It’s just a feeling, Father. Today seems to be full of surprises and maybe this is just another one."

************************

Padre Felipe knocked at the door to the comandante’s office. It was opened immediately by Corporal Reyes who whispered. "Good morning, Padre. The comandante has already started the proceedings."

"I am here as a character witness, Corporal. I am sorry I am late. May I still come in?"

Reyes nodded. "Please sit down in one of the chairs. The comandante will call on you when it is time."

Felipe was surprised at how easily he gained entrance. He heard whispered voices as he made his way to an empty chair and nodded to several of those seated. To the right of the comandante’s desk were chairs for the accused and in them sat two of the mission Indians. One of them had his head down. The other was paying close attention to the army officer. When Felipe sat down he then looked up towards the desk. He was surprised to see a stranger at the desk, not Capitán Monastario. For some reason, the officer seemed familiar, but Felipe forced himself to concentrate on his words.

"You need not fear speaking to me of this matter," the officer was telling the Indian whose head was bowed and who looked down at the floor. "This is merely a hearing, not a trial of any kind. All you have to do is to tell me whether the witness is right or wrong in what he says. You will not be harmed for saying yes or no."

There was a long silence. The man with the bowed head glanced at his companion and shook his head. The long hair swayed with the movement of his head. His companion looked up at the Spanish officer. "He says ‘no,’ Señor Comandante."

"Why, the insolent fool!" shouted a man in the front seat. "How dare he question me, the head vaquero of Don Pedro’s ranch? His insolence and rebellious ways are well known in this district. Capitán Monastario was right to arrest him and beat him into his proper place." Murmurs of protest were heard from other participants seated in the chairs.

"Are there any other witnesses who would like to testify for or against the accused?" the officer asked, holding up a hand to quiet the participants.

"I would like to speak on this man’s behalf," Felipe said, standing up.

"Please state your name and your relationship to the accused," the officer responded very politely. "I am Capitán de las Fuentes and I am reviewing these cases."

"I am Padre Felipe of the Mission of San Gabriel, Capitán," the priest replied. "I have known Juan for many years. He is a faithful worker and diligent in all the tasks he is assigned to do at the Mission. He is a good father to his children and a caring husband to his wife and to her parents who live with them. He has never struck another man or woman in anger or in passion."

"The records and this witness state that this man was arrested and beaten for ‘insubordination’ and ‘rebelliousness’," De las Fuentes stated.

"If to resist injustice is ‘rebelliousness’ and if to speak the truth is ‘insubordination,’ then I, too, would be guilty of the same charges. However, I don’t think that this is the issue at all. Juan was ordered by Señor Cisneros to perform some duties that are unrelated to his tasks for working at the mission and he declined to do so."

"Do Señor Juan’s labors or duties fall primarily under the jurisdiction of the mission or do they extend to local landowners as well?" asked the officer.

"He is a neophyte under the protection and jurisdiction of the church," replied Felipe. "His tasks are primarily at the mission."

"He has also been on road labor," interrupted Cisneros. "When their services are required, they must comply."

"He was only on road labor because he asked to take the place of his brother who was ill. He did not want the family punished because a sick member could not meet his work obligations," Felipe responded calmly. "Should a man be punished for trying to see that a family meets its obligations? He did not have to do this. That he did so shows his feeling of responsibility to his family and to the community."

"I must ask you a question," De las Fuentes said to Felipe. "If the authorities or landlords require tasks to be performed by the neophytes, would it not be prudent to first seek the permission or consent of their master before such labors are commenced? This means," he turned to Cisneros, "that while your desire for this man’s services was not unreasonable in and of itself under our laws, you were negligent in seeking the permission of Padre Felipe for any labors to be performed."

Felipe nodded in agreement with the officer’s formulation of the question. Miguel Cisneros lost his angry look and looked down.

De las Fuentes turned to the seated Indians. "I will now ask Señor Juan a question and I want him to answer for himself." He stood up and took a few steps towards the defendants, keeping a non-threatening distance. He then addressed the man with the bowed head and long black hair. "Señor Juan, I would like you to tell me this: if Señor Cisneros had asked Father Felipe his permission for you to work for him, and Padre Felipe had given it, would you have obeyed your master?"

It was a while before Juan responded. He was not used to any Spanish official asking him his opinion. When he finally answered, he looked up into the face of the Spanish officer. He could see that this man was very different from Capitán Monastario. "Yes. The little Father is a good man. If he asks Juan to work for anyone, Juan will do it."

The room was silent when the Indian finished speaking. De las Fuentes nodded, contemplating the answer he had heard. He then returned to his desk and sat down. "Is there any further testimony to be offered?" he asked. Everyone in the audience looked at each other and no one spoke. "Since no other testimonies are volunteered, the case will now be considered." The officer paused. "It is our judgment that both accused and accuser have responsibilities and obligations under the law and under convention and custom. Based on the law and on the testimony, it is our conclusion that the accused could not be guilty of insubordination because he has no power to say yes or no to any request made by Señor Cisneros at all. It is the responsibility of Señor Cisneros’ master to come to a _modus vivendi_ with Padre Felipe in order to obtain the labor of mission neophytes. Other neophytes are available for such labors and the requisitioning of their labors needs to be acquiesced upon what is customary between labor needs and local jurisprudence. It was imprudent of subordinates to take upon themselves extralimitary sublations in contradiction to ecclesiastic prerogatives in regards to subordinated tasks and obligations. …"

Miguel Cisneros turned to a friend and whispered. "What did he say? I lost him after he said we have to ask permission."

His friend shrugged. "Can’t understand him at all."

Ten minutes later, the audience, that is, all but Padre Felipe, was awakened out of their mental stupor by the words, "Case closed."They glanced at each other uncertainly while the officer wrote out something on the desk. He beckoned Corporal Reyes over to the desk and handed him a scrap of parchment. "Give this to Señor Juan," he told him, "then, clear the room."

When they heard these last words, everyone rose from their chairs and began to file out of the room. Reyes handed the Indian the scrap of paper and the man looked at it uncomprehendingly. When all the participants had filed out, except for Felipe and the corporal, Juan stood up and looked at the priest uncertainly. He approached the officer who was writing in a ledger. "Your pardon, Señor Comandante," he said humbly. "I do not understand this."

De las Fuentes looked up at the Indian and for the first time saw a man’s face, honest and bewildered, beyond the long hair, copper-colored skin, and torn cotton garb. "The army has the right to arrest anyone on any charges," he explained. "But I do not believe that anyone has the right to beat you or to destroy your attire while doing so. This is a voucher for you to present to the town physician for some salve for your bruises and to the general store for the replacing of your clothing that was rented yesterday." He smiled pleasantly. "And Señor Juan, in the future, refer all requests for your labors to Padre Felipe. No one but he can decide your tasks. If the forces in opposition are too strong, however, then do what they ask. This is for your own self-preservation. In the end, God will see to it that justice is done."

"Sometimes I wonder if that is true, Señor Comandante," Juan said barely audibly. "My people have suffered a great deal, not from Padre Felipe, but from the landowners and other whites."

"I am convinced to the contrary. What would I be doing here in this pueblo, far from my own land and from my family, if not to make justice, which ultimately comes from the hand of God? There is a grand design in all things. We are just too small to grasp it," the officer replied.

Juan continued to gaze at De las Fuentes. "Then it must be true, for I have received justice today. You cannot take away the pain of the blows I received, but I see that you are also a good man. Thank you, Your Excellency." With these words he bowed low to the officer. Padre Felipe nodded in approval and the man left the room. Corporal Reyes left the room as well and closed the door.

Felipe walked to the desk. "I was not sure that it was you when I walked in the door, Your Excellency," he said.

"I am not sure what you are referring to, Father Felipe," De las Fuentes responded, looking up at him.

"But you are General de las Fuentes," Felipe insisted. "I met you in Spain many years ago."

"I think you must be confusing me with someone else," the officer suggested. "Perhaps my father? He is a general."

"No, Your Excellency. When you thought you were dying of the pox, I was your confessor. No man on the General Staff ever impressed me more by his honesty than you did."

De las Fuentes smiled quietly and rose from his chair. "And if I remember correctly, you are still the conscience of all men, speaking out of place and not fearing to do so. As for me, my honesty, as you put it, has been my curse. It lost me my rank and favor at Court. Although I am the king’s own cousin, he will not abide me in Spain any longer. And the scoundrels and misfits who bray his praises as he sinks into the mire of taking himself too seriously seem to grow and fatten on the land of our birth. There was no slander that they did not undertake to blacken my name privately although they never dared to do so publicly."

Padre Felipe nodded. "Then the rumors I heard are indeed true. I trust that your misfortune did not follow you here to the Américas?"

De las Fuentes walked around the front of the desk and took the priest’s hands into his own. "Padre, I am no longer a general. I humbly beg you not to let others know of my misfortune by speaking of my past. If humiliation were the bitter wine that my enemies wanted me to drink plenty of, well, they have succeeded. But I can never forget who I am or what I am, or was, even though they have destroyed me." He sighed. "Still, I cannot complain too much. Here in the colonies, few know this shameful history. Yet there are still those in Spain who try to do me small favors whenever they can. I try not to ask them for much in consideration of the political consequences."

"May I ask you of the Lady Isabel?" Felipe asked quietly. "Is she well?"

"I do not know, Father, for after she was taken from me, I have not seen her. The king forbade our marriage and she was forced to wed another on his command. She did not dare refuse, she said. I sent her a secret message advising her to obey the king since she felt she had to. Her maidservant visited me with the message that she would love me to her dying day and beyond the grave. I told her not to because the man she wed is not a bad fellow. I left Spain because to remain there would have killed me."

"My Prince," said Felipe, looking into the other man’s eyes, "let the Américas be a unique beginning for you, where, like a plant cut off from its parent, you can take root in the fresh and vibrant waters of California. Here, there are great hopes and dreams. Become a part of them and make a better life for yourself. New Spain needs its princes as well as its craftsmen and its priests."

De las Fuentes shook his head. "I am too old for that, Padre. Perhaps the New World is a place where the old and disgraced can come and die in peace."

"Nonsense," exclaimed Felipe. "You are not old at all, only your spirit has faltered. I am never one to give up and I will not allow you to give up either. You shall meet the kind of good souls here in Los Angeles who will restore your faith. Even though your assignment here is limited, I want you to leave with restored joy in your heart."

"Very well, Padre," De las Fuentes sighed again. "But let us speak no more of this for the present. Join me at the inn for lunch. Let us sup this evening and you can tell me about the virtues of Los Angeles and your work here."  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Three**  
---  
**[Chapter One](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	3. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Three**

Margarita Peréz went through the ritual she had established for herself. She went to her room and cried all afternoon and well into the evening, hiding her face with her long, light brown hair. The next morning, she went to church and to confession. Then, she consulted with the padre, knowing that her parents would follow her and wring their hands in despair. Then she would play the piano for hours, first heavy and monotonous dirges and then light-hearted melodies that had that playful quality that meant that she had won against the darker spirits.

This time, however, she was also angry. The man who proposed a match to her father was a rake, she told herself. He wanted her for a bride the way some women add diamonds to their wedding bands - to show and impress others. Well, she would be no one’s ornament.

Although she had been told numerous times that she was a beauty, she really didn’t believe it. She was, in her opinion, herself - slender, pale, and blue-eyed. She believed that she had the right proportions of everything she was supposed to and nothing more or less. If anything, she thought her friends were prettier, but she didn’t deny that she was very nice-looking. She was more interested in dressing well, but not extravagantly, and her modesty was something admired. Perhaps these were the very qualities that attracted most men to her – someone who did not seem to threaten their egos. But little did they know her other side, for encompassed in her polite behavior was a spirit that was independent and even a little unrepentant in its independence.

As for her latest suitor, she thought so little of him that she would stick her tongue out in derision after he turned his back. As he sputtered the usual platitudes, she would roll her eyes. Previously she would do it in private, but lately she would do it in their presence, something that disconcerted not a few. As for this latest one, his eyes were off balance, his lips too fat in a self-satisfied pout, and she absolutely loathed the scent he wore - crushed lily. She really didn’t like musk either, so that wouldn’t have helped him. She didn’t need his money or social status. When she found out, just by accident, that he was allergic to cats, she bought several of them and held one in her lap when he came to call on her. The rest of the cats hid themselves under chairs or behind the drapes and even under his chair. When his eyes began to water and he began to sneeze continuously, she smiled to herself. She told him that she was sorry that he was ill and it would be to his advantage to leave. When he finally did leave, she shut the door and laughed until the tears streamed down her face. And the piano put forth merry tunes and melodies for hours. That was the week before. When her parents found out what she had done, they were furious. Well, that hadn’t stopped him from proposing and that is what had made her mad. The simpleton couldn’t take a hint, could he?

This afternoon, however, after the ritual confession to the padre, she went to visit her best friends, Juanita Villa and Ismaida Rodriguez. Ismaida was a tiny young woman, about four foot ten with dark hair and blue eyes. Juanita was taller, about five foot four and had auburn hair. Of the three, she was the most mischievous and clever. Both of these girls were seventeen and loved talking about embroidery and music. In fact, all three of them were musicians. They often met in each other’s homes and played piano, mostly duets. Other times, to escape the prying eyes of their families, they would go to church together and meet out in the shady graveyard to sit on a stone bench. Surrounded by the mission’s roses and shade trees, its wandering paths and high, secretive walls, they were in a world of their own. There they would chat about the latest gossip in town, or about some handsome young cousin who was visiting a friend, or that dashing outlaw Zorro whose romantic blade touched most female hearts. Nobody knew who El Zorro was and, of the three girls, only Ismaida Rodriguez had actually seen him fleetingly on his great black stallion one day while she was out riding with her dueña. This was late one afternoon when the unpopular garrison commander, Capitán Monastario, was pursuing him through the hills. She had waved a kerchief at El Zorro and imagined that he had saluted her with a sweeping gesture from his black hat.

Today’s news was about Juan Valdez and the most unexpected behavior of the comandante, Enrique Monastario, in setting him free. Ismaida always thought that, at some point, the garrison commander would have to do something right. "He’s too handsome to really be that mean," she thought.

Juanita and Margarita disagreed. "Mama says that beautiful boxes can have demons inside and that is what Capitán Monastario is," Juanita declared. "El Zorro probably made him release Señor Valdez."

Margarita agreed but was more practical. "Well, I think El Zorro would have had to put a sword to the comandante’s throat before he would release those men," she said, "and nobody has seen El Zorro at all. Perhaps we should walk across the plaza and see what is going on. If EL Zorro is around, maybe we could catch a glimpse of him."

"Yes, let’s go," the other two girls agreed and all three left through the gated door.

*************************

Padre Felipe was accompanying Capitán de las Fuentes towards the inn when he caught a glimpse of three young women chatting and laughing as they crossed the plaza. He frowned to himself because just two hours before one of them, Margarita Pérez, had been in tears at confession as if it were the end of the world. But he pretended not to see them - not just yet.

Capitán de las Fuentes was observing the bustle of the plaza, the freshness of the whitewashed shops, and the exceptionally blue sky. "This seems to be a very pleasant town, Padre. I hope to see much of it and its surrounding environs." He noticed that the padre was leading him in a roundabout direction to the inn. He moved to the priest’s right side and noticed that they were on a course to intercept three attractive young ladies crossing the plaza. It was a clever course because it put them in line with the public well and made the padre almost invisible to the oncoming trio. The officer wondered what Felipe was up to.

Ismaida was the first to catch sight of the newcomer to Los Angeles. "Oh, look," she said. "I’ve never seen him before."

"Who?" asked Juanita.

"Coming towards us - the army officer. Have you seen him before?"

"Not me," responded Margarita. "It’s not Capitán Monastario." She shaded her eyes and then caught sight of the priest. "Uh, oh." For someone who had acted prostrate with grief just a little earlier, she would have to think fast on her feet. She looked around. There was no place to retreat to.

"Good afternoon, my children," Padre Felipe greeted them as he appeared out of the far shadow of the well.

"Good afternoon, Padre Felipe," the girls responded in a chorus with their most charming smiles.

"Such a lovely day," the Padre continued. He looked at Margarita and said pointedly. "I am glad to see that you have recovered from your grief so quickly, Margarita."

"Being with my best friends can turn a cloudy day into a sunny one, " she replied. "I don’t know what I would do without them."

The army officer cleared his throat. "I don’t believe that I have yet had the good fortune to be introduced to these incomparable flowers of Los Angeles," he smiled.

The girls giggled, then curtsied politely.

"Capitán de las Fuentes," began the priest, "may I introduce a few of them? First, here is Señorita Ismaida Rodriguez."

De las Fuentes doffed his hat and swept it past his scarlett-sashed waist as he bowed in a courtly manner. He took Ismaida’s hand and kissed it saying, "Ah, Señorita Rodriguez, were your eyes stars in the night sky, none other could shine so brightly."

Ismaida’s fine dark eyebrows shot up. "Oh," was her only response.

"And Señorita Juanita Villa," Felipe introduced the second girl.

"I am honored, Señorita Villa, " he said, bowing and kissing her hand as well. "Your step is as light as a gazelle in the green forests of fairyland. You must dance divinely."

Juanita looked astonished. "I do dance, Señor. How did you know?"

"Oh, Capitán de las Fuentes, when I knew him in Spain, was one of the best dancers at Court, Señorita," said the padre. "He must know all the dances in fashion."

"Ah, Padre," acknowledged the officer. "That was many years ago. I am sure that this young lady is much more up to date than I on the latest fashion. We danced waltzes in my time, but I hear that Gypsy dancing is all the rage at the present."

"Waltzes are still very fashionable, Capitán," Juanita ventured. "Only the tempo varies more than it used to. My parents think that Gypsy dancing is vulgar."

"Then they must be from the North," responded De las Fuentes, "for in Andalucía and Seville there is nothing that they won’t dance to, even if it is ‘vulgar.’"

De las Fuentes turned toward the third young woman. She seemed to be sizing up the conversations almost in expectation of another bit of flattery from just another gentleman. He sensed that she would not be very impressed with his usual gallantries. She seemed older and more sophisticated than the other two girls, just from how her sharp blue eyes studied the situation before her and by her wary expression. Nevertheless, he smiled pleasantly.

"This is our own Señorita Margarita Pérez," Felipe said with a gesture of introduction.

De las Fuentes bowed and took her reluctant hand into his. "My dear Señorita Pérez." He likewise kissed her hand, but did not yet release it from his grasp when he returned to his normal height. "Ah," he said, moving his fingers lightly over hers, "a musician’s hands. I can feel it. Do you play piano or perhaps the flute? I can easily imagine you in your home in a Mozart quartet."

Margarita Pérez had told herself that nothing this officer could say would interest her at all. She saw the looks of amazement on the faces of her two friends and was surprised herself by what he had observed. "I do play piano," she acknowledged. "As a matter of fact, all of us do." She hesitated a moment. "But how could you tell?"

"I was in Salzburg and later Vienna as a young boy traveling with family members. I had the good fortune to hear a famous musician play there. It was Señor Mozart. His older sister, Señorita Anna María Mozart, also played the harpsichord. I was honored to have a few words with both of them and to kiss the hands of the Señorita. There was something in your hands that reminded me of her," he replied.

"How extraordinary," Padre Felipe commented, very interested himself. "I knew you had been to Venice to see the operas, as well as to Vienna to hear famous composers. But, what about the famous musicians in Madrid? Don’t I remember the Italian Boccherini who played there? He was an astonishing cellist. Metastasio was a favorite of our then Queen María Bárbara."

"That was a little before my time, Padre," responded De las Fuentes. "But I should like to hear more of these ladies’ musical interests. As they love piano, they no doubt know about the latest developments."

"Pardon me, Capitán," the priest reminded him. "We are certainly having a delightful time discussing music, but I believe that we need to dine before continuing the rest of the hearings at three o’clock this afternoon. There is not much time left for dining and a siesta."

"I am truly disappointed that we must cut short such a pleasant conversation," De las Fuentes replied in a regretful tone of voice. "I hope you dear ladies will forgive us." He paused as the three young women nodded. "I also need to go to the chapel before the next hearing resumes," he added to Felipe.

Padre Felipe nodded. "Speaking of the chapel, Señorita Margarita - your parents asked me to speak with you about our meeting this morning. I would like you to come by to see me again, perhaps tomorrow morning?"

Margarita swallowed. _Uh, oh_ , she thought to herself. _Looks like I’m in trouble again_. But she smiled as if she had not a single care in the world. "I’ll be there." She turned to the captain in order to end the encounter on a more positive note. "I have enjoyed listening to you speak about your travels and meeting the famous composers," she told him, "but I’m afraid that we are too far from Europe to know the latest developments." She paused, looking at her two friends. "Perhaps you could tell us about them when we see you again. I hope that will be soon." The other two girls nodded.

"It would be a great pleasure to do so," De las Fuentes replied and bowed again, kissing each of their hands in turn. He placed his hat on his head and departed with the padre towards the inn.

The three young women watched them depart and then looked at each other. Ismaida began to laugh. "He sure is old-fashioned," she giggled. "All he needs are some plumes or feathers in his hat. I couldn’t believe what he said about my eyes."

"Me, too," added Juanita. "But he’s very smart to notice all those things. He must have seen me skipping a little as we walked or maybe when I twirled. I guess I do it all the time without noticing." She turned to Margarita. "What do you think of him?" she asked.

Margarita watched the officer as he disappeared through the door of the inn, then turned to her two friends and said, "I want him to talk to me again about music."

************************

Don Alejandro de la Vega and his son, Diego, occupied the table next to the door in the inn. There were no other tables available for those seeking an afternoon meal or a mug of wine. So, when the door to the inn opened and Padre Felipe entered, followed by an army officer, Don Alejandro stood up at once and invited them to dine at his table.

Felipe nodded and smiled, thanking him. The officer made an exaggerated bow from the waist ending with a flourish of his hand. His gesture amused both the De la Vegas.

"You are a rare sight in the inn, Padre," Alejandro noted once the introductions had been made, "but a welcome one."

"I fear the sale of spirits may diminish while I am here," Felipe responded cheerfully. "Only the wives will be happy with my presence." The men chuckled at his words.

Alejandro turned to the officer. "Capitán de las Fuentes, welcome to Los Angeles. I trust that you have met the comandante already?"

"I have not yet had that pleasure," De las Fuentes replied with a thoughtful look. "But it may be something I will need to tend to upon his return."

Felipe smiled knowingly. "The Capitán is not joking, Don Alejandro," he explained. "You see, right now, Capitán de las Fuentes is the acting comandante of Los Angeles."

The inn grew noticeably quieter as if most of the customers had been listening to the conversation at the De la Vega table. There was a hum of voices, followed by the innkeeper’s hasty appearance. Señor Pacheco waved a small towel like a sail. "Oh, Padre Felipe, welcome to the inn. May I get you and your guest some refreshment?"

"Padre Felipe is my guest," De las Fuentes responded, turning to the innkeeper and correcting him. "And if these gentlemen would care for an additional refreshment as well, it would please me."

"Thank you, Comandante," responded Alejandro. "I won’t turn down a glass of wine."

"Are _you_ the comandante?" Señor Pacheco asked De las Fuentes in surprise. "I have heard many good things about what has happened today."

"I am currently the acting comandante, yes," the officer replied. "And what good things have happened today?"

"Capitán de las Fuentes," answered Alejandro, "the hearings you have held for the men in jail today are big news in this town. It is not often that justice has been so quickly and ably administered in Los Angles."

"I am sorry to hear that," the officer responded. "But there are hearings yet to be held and I can not say what the outcome will be. Each case must be judged on its own merit."

"If what has been accomplished so far is any indication of what is to come, Capitán," Diego spoke for the first time, "then we have much to look forward to."

"Have we met before, Don Diego?" De las Fuentes asked suddenly. "There is something in the intonation of your voice that leads me to believe that we have."

"I returned from Spain only a few months ago," Diego replied calmly. "Perhaps we met in Madrid? I was there for four years."

"I have not been to Madrid recently," De las Fuentes replied, "but it is possible that we met. Perhaps at a recital."

"I attended many while there," Diego confirmed. He looked up the innkeeper. "I’d like a cup of tea. What would you like, Padre?"

"I think I will indulge myself in some lemonade," Felipe smiled "And I will have whatever the Capitán orders for lunch."

"You could starve on my rations," the small officer responded humorously. "But let us indulge ourselves today." He looked up at the innkeeper. "Señor, bring on your finest culinary creations and godly nectars so that we may inebriate ourselves into an earthly bliss of the palate."

Señor Pacheco seemed at bit confused. He looked at Don Alejandro who only smiled and then at Don Diego in an entreating sort of way.

Diego grinned. "Ah, nothing but the finest wine and food for the padre and comandante," he said and leaned back in his chair as he watched the innkeeper nod and leave hurriedly. "We need to dine with the both of you more often."

"But next time," Don Alejandro interjected, "I shall play the host."

***************************

He had less than an hour to accomplish his goal. After politely excusing himself after a long lunch and pleasant conversation, Francisco de las Fuentes made his way to the chapel at the mission and, after genuflection, found himself pondering where he could be somewhat inconspicuous - there - towards the back of the chapel on the far left or right.

He put his hat next to him on the bench, and then carefully lowered himself to the kneeling board. Long ago, since the advent of his nightmares, he had learned to position his arms over or against the back of the pew in front of him and cover his face as if in deep prayer. He would go to sleep almost immediately. On lucky days he could sleep three or four hours without anybody really noticing it. He would just change location in church after sleeping an hour or so in one spot. And in church, he never had the nightmares. He had pondered the reason for this for some time and came to the conclusion that a witch or a warlock in the pay of his political enemies must have cursed him. Or maybe it was punishment for his innumerable sins of which he was sure he had many. When he was being more logical, he had to admit that he mainly had his nightmares while lying flat. If he propped himself up on pillows, which was not really comfortable for him, he could also sleep without the nightmares. But for whatever the reason, he felt better in church in the comforting shadows of the statues of the saints, the Blessed Virgin and all the symbols of the benevolence of God. And why shouldn’t he? He was a prince, appointed and anointed by God, yet brought low by who knows what. Maybe he had sinned along the way by being too honest or having loved Isabel too well. No, it couldn’t be those reasons. But - he yawned and closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep. He did not know that three pairs of curious eyes had watched him cross the plaza and enter the church.

*****************************

After returning from shopping at the general store and chatting with acquaintances in the street, Margarita Pérez and her friends decided to stroll around the plaza. They were near the mission when Margarita spotted Padre Felipe leaving the inn and heading toward them. She told her friends that she was in trouble with the padre and wanted to avoid speaking to him again. Perhaps if they went into the church, they could avoid any conversation while appearing to be more pious than they felt. Within minutes all three girls entered the chapel, dipped a finger in the holy water, knelt, made the sign of the cross, and then hurriedly sat down in the back.

Margarita closed her eyes and waited long minutes before daring to open one eye and then another to see if Padre Felipe was anywhere nearby. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him; she just did not like the idea that he might say anything more to her before tomorrow’s unwelcome encounter. She sighed in relief because he was nowhere in sight. She turned her eyes towards her friends who still had their eyes closed. Then she saw him.

The officer was almost slumped over the back of the bench in front of him. His hands covered his face and he looked quite lost in prayer. He didn’t move at all the entire time she gazed at him. Then she felt someone nudge her. It was Juanita Villa.

Juanita leaned over to her friend and whispered. "Look, I think he’s asleep," she pointed out.

"So?" she responded as if not particularly interested.

"Padre Felipe said the hearings would resume at three o’clock and it’s only five minutes away," Juanita replied. "Why don’t we see?"

"What do you mean?" whispered Margarita in return, somewhat alarmed by Juanita’s audacity.

Juanita smiled mischievously. She cupped her hands to her mouth and said in a loud whisper, "Capitán de las Fuentes! Capitán de las Fuentes!"

"Shhhh, don’t do that!" said Margarita, looking anxiously around and then at the officer. He did not respond at all.

Ismaida giggled and did the same. "Capitán de las Fuentes! Wake up, Capitán!" she said in a loud whisper and snickered into her hands. "He _is_ asleep."

"He’s going to be late," Juanita said to Margarita. "What can we do?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she responded nervously. "Why don’t you call again since you are so bold?"

"Oh, no, Margarita," responded Juanita, still whispering. "Look - Señora Pertolá just came in. She’d tell the padre we were misbehaving in church. You’d be in trouble again."

Ismaida had to cover her mouth with her hand. She knew what Juanita was up to and it was almost too funny for words.

"Go ahead, Margarita, you do it," Juanita urged. "You go wake him up."

"I can’t do that," Margarita responded. "Why don’t you do it?"

"But you’re the oldest, Margarita, and besides, he talked to you the longest, don’t you remember?" Juanita insisted.

"Oh, my," Margarita replied and became agitated. "I guess I could. I’ll just tell him that he’s running late. He’ll just thank me and leave."

"Go on, go on," the other two girls urged.

Margarita was uncertain. She looked around to see if anyone else was watching her. No one was. She went two pews up and moved silently down toward the sleeping officer. "Capitán de las Fuentes," she whispered and got no response. She turned back to look at Juanita and Ismaida. Juanita gestured for her to poke him.

She hesitated and touched his arm. "Capitán," she whispered. "Wake up." There was still no response. She looked back at her friends again in dismay. Juanita again gestured for her to poke him. Margarita hesitated, then elbowed him in the ribs, much harder than she had intended.

The comandante’s eyes shot wide open and he sat back with a thump on the bench, looking startled. The point of the scabbard of his saber shot up and hit the pew in front and its hilt banged against the back of the seat. Several worshippers in the forward pews turned around to see what the disturbance was. He blinked as he saw a young woman sitting next to him blushing to the roots of her hair. "Señorita?" he responded in surprise. Then he recognized her.

She handed him his hat. "Hurry, Capitán. You are late for the hearing!"

"Ah," he replied and took his hat from her.

She slid down the bench on her long skirt to get out of his way. As she backed out and stood in the aisle, he exited the pew, then bowed to her and kissed her hand - several times - and hastened out of the chapel. "Oh, my," she said out loud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She looked over at her friends, Ismaida and Juanita, who were giggling and looking at each other. Then she became very self-conscious. She looked around anxiously toward the front of the chapel and saw the accusing eyes of Señora Pertolá who had seen everything. _Uh, oh_ , she thought, _today is not my day_. She surmised the best thing to do would be to leave the chapel in the officer’s wake and she turned on her heel, gesturing to her friends to follow her.

Capitán de las Fuentes was halfway across the plaza when the girls emerged from the church and watched him limp painfully the rest of the way to the cuartel. They turned and looked at each other in consternation. "Why, he’s crippled," said Ismaida.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 4](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante4.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	4. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Four**

The church bell had just tolled three in the afternoon when the Comandante entered the office with his typical slow gait. Everyone was waiting inside. He removed his hat and sat at his desk. After an opening statement, he had the three vaqueros brought in to the room. As they were being seated, he examined the paperwork before him a second time.

"There seem to be a number of charges against the following men: Benito Ávila, Tomás Robello, and Angel Ledesma. These charges include tax arrears, insubordination, brawling, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and violation of the curfew. Do the defendants have any response to the charges?"

The three men looked at each other. One of them nodded and stood up. His hat was in his hand. He was a tall, stocky mestizo with a broad, closely clipped moustache. "I am Benito Ávila," he said. "The charges against me are greatly exaggerated. I paid my taxes, so that is not an issue. I just had a few drinks at the bar and we exchanged some jokes, laughing and having a good time. When the trouble started, I tried to put a stop to it. How could there be a curfew violation in the middle of the day?"

"Do you have any witnesses to substantiate your assertions?" asked De las Fuentes, looking at the audience.

Don Alejandro de la Vega rose. "My name is Alejandro de la Vega, Your Excellency. All three of these men are in my employ. I have the tax records of all my men that prove that they paid their taxes."

"Please submit these documents for my inspection," De las Fuentes responded. As the don presented the documents and explained them, the officer compared them to the records he had. "Your records expiate the ones in this office," he remarked to the don’s satisfaction.

One of the prisoners raised his hand. De las Fuentes recognized him. "State your name and make your statement."

"I am Angel Ledesma, Your Excellency." He stood up. "Uh, what does ‘expiate’ mean?"

There were a few laughs from the audience.

De las Fuentes looked at the man benevolently enough. "That is a fair question," he remarked. "I find that your master’s documents contain the same information as those in my possession. Since I see no evidence that your taxes have been raised, I can only assume that you owe none."

"Then why were we falsely charged?" asked the third man in a belligerent voice.

"Will you kindly ask permission to speak before doing so?" asked the captain in a calm voice. "When I recognize you, you can then state your name and ask your question."

The third vaquero was a lean, tall man with deeply suntanned skin. He stood up. He had no jacket. "I am Tomás Robello," he said, "and I demand to know why I was falsely charged in evading taxes. All of the other charges are as false as this one."

"I do not know the reason you were accused other than what has been written," De las Fuentes responded in a reasonable tone of voice. "However, there are other charges to be considered that may or may not be true. The point of this hearing is to determine the nature of all the charges. As for your demands, you are in no position to make any since you are still under arrest. You may, however, request evidence. That is what we are attempting to ascertain. There is no reason for you to impinge upon the dignity of this hearing. I expect you to conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner. I will only warn you this one time."

The vaquero remained standing.

"Do you have something else to say?" asked the captain.

"I believe you just threatened me," replied Robello in a cold voice. "I want to know what you meant by the statement that you will warn me only one time."

Don Diego stood up at that remark.

"Señor de la Vega," the officer said in recognition.

"Your pardon, Capitán," Diego began, looking first at the officer, and then addressing his comments to the tall man. "I think that Tomás needs to understand that this hearing is not about threats or how to be discourteous to authority." He turned to the vaquero. "I understand your anger at being under arrest, Tomás, but the one who arrested you is not present. Have patience so that all the evidence can be examined. I think you will get more justice at this hearing than you would under other circumstances."

De las Fuentes nodded at the young don, but he stood up to catch the attention of everyone in the room. "Thank you, Señor de la Vega, for your remarks." He turned to the vaquero. "Señor Robello, there is protocol to be followed in all legal proceedings. Protocol is an established method of etiquette, a way in which we conduct ourselves as civilized beings. Procedure, courtesy, and etiquette give dignity and seriousness to our gatherings. Our laws and customs are established so that those in authority are given due respect for the powers bestowed upon them by the Crown and for the knowledge of the law and application of the laws which they garner through many years of experience. I assumed that everyone understands this. If you will reflect upon the behavior of your colleagues, you will no doubt notice that they have given proper deference to the hearing officer. There is no excuse for you to be an exception to these rules. I expect that after this explanation and my previous advice, that you will conduct yourself in a duly respectful manner. Breaches of etiquette are unacceptable regardless of your personal feelings to the contrary. We are a kingdom and each of us has his place. There are consequences for those who violate etiquette and I am reminding you of them, something that should not be necessary. Do you have any further questions or statements?"

Tomás Robello was surprised by the behavior of the captain in confronting his belligerence. He expected to make a noisy scene and be dragged out by soldiers – what would have happened under Capitán Monastario – and clapped into irons. This officer, while he symbolized the hated military authority, was different and Tomás Robello was grudgingly willing to give him his due. "I have no further questions or statements," he said and sat down.

Alejandro and his son, Diego, gave each other a look with raised eyebrows. Both were positively impressed with the way De las Fuentes conducted himself and treated the men under arrest. This was no official whose attitude was "guilty until proven guilty."

"Let us proceed to the other charges," continued De las Fuentes. There was a tap at the door to the office. Corporal Reyes answered it and the innkeeper, Señor Pacheco, was admitted. De las Fuentes noticed a perceptible change in the demeanor of the vaqueros as the innkeeper took his seat.

"The next charges to be considered are those of insubordination, brawling, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and violation of the curfew. According to the record, these acts took place at the tavern, which is owned by Señor ‘Pacheco’ Ríos. It involved fighting with each other, damage to the property of the proprietor, refusal to cease and desist, insubordination and threatening bodily harm to the arresting soldiers and officer," De las Fuentes said, reading from the text. "Is there anyone here who would like to come forth as a witness?"

The room was quiet. All eyes seem to gravitate toward the innkeeper who looked uncomfortable. He rose hesitantly.

"Please state your name and make your statement," the Comandante told him.

"I am the owner of the tavern and inn here in Los Angeles, Francisco ‘Pacheco’ Ríos, Your Excellency," the innkeeper said nervously. His hands held his hat close to his chest and he squeezed the edges. "The three men there are good customers of mine and normally there is no trouble, but yesterday, ah, there was a lot of trouble."

"Explain the nature of the trouble and when it began," De las Fuentes requested.

"Well, Your Excellency, those two gentlemen there," he pointed at Robello and Ledesma, "seem to have been arguing and Señor Ávila attempted to put a stop to it. Señor Robello threw a punch at Señor Ávila and Señor Ledesma joined him." He hesitated.

"Continue," said the officer.

"Well, after subduing Señor Ledesma, Señor Ávila told me to hit Señor Robello on the head with a wine bottle to put a stop to the fighting because Señor Robello was like a wild man."

"And what did you do?"

"Well I picked up a bottle. I saw at once that it was one of our more expensive brands and I put it back. I tried to find a bottle of cheap wine but…"

The audience began to laugh at that and De las Fuentes found he could not suppress a smile. This was beginning to sound like a comedy act.

"Well, it took some time and I finally located a bottle, but by then Señor Robello had picked up a chair and had thrown it at Señor Ávila, who dodged the chair. However, the chair hit the table of two guests who then threatened to join the fight. I begged one of them to go to the cuartel to get the soldiers. He finally did."

"And what did you do then?" asked the captain.

"Well," the innkeeper continued nervously, "I followed Señor Robello around with my bottle trying to find a good opportunity to hit him. Señor Ávila keep yelling at me, saying ‘Hit him now, you old idiot! Hit him now!’ But I could not. It was very difficult to follow the both of them around and around. By then they had knocked over tables and chairs, broken candles and my other customers had their meals ruined. Finally, I aimed at Señor Robello’s head and hit him, just as the soldiers and the comandante, I mean, Capitán Monastario, came through the front door. The soldiers arrested a lot of people, not just the vaqueros. I had to tell Capitán Monastario many times that only these three men were involved and that only two of them started the fight. However, Señor Ávila was also arrested."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. "And how much damage was done to your inn, to your property, and possible lost service of your customers?"

Señor Pacheco took out a list. "I wrote down everything, Your Excellency. The chairs can be repaired, but the barmaids had to stay longer to clean up everything that night and…." He handed the list to the comandante who read through it solemnly.

"This is a bit of damage," he commented, setting the list down. "Are there any other witnesses?" he asked.

A young lady began to rise, then sat down. She looked uncertain of herself. The innkeeper looked at her and gestured for her to stand up.

"Señorita, would you care to testify?" De las Fuentes asked her. "All you need to do is to tell us what you saw at the time of the disturbance."

"Oh, I guess so," the young lady began. "My name is Conchita Cortéz. I work for Señor Pacheco at the inn. Tomás and Angel were drinking a lot but they were quiet. Then they started arguing and pushing each other. Tomás demanded more wine but I wouldn’t sell him any more and he told me ‘You little tortilla maker, you had better do what I tell you.’ And I told him that I wasn’t any tortilla maker and that’s when he grabbed my arm. Then Benito came over and told him to let go of me because I was a lady and Tomás wouldn’t and then Benito pulled his hand off me and that’s when Tomás swung his fist at Benito."  
  
"How did Señor Ledesma become involved in this fight?" asked the Comandante.

"Oh, Angel said that nobody starts fights with his best drinking buddy and that’s when he started fighting against Benito, too."

"Did you see Señor Robello or Señor Ledesma throw furniture or assault other customers?" De las Fuentes asked her.

"Oh, that was Tomás. He has a big ego. He thinks he can fight everybody…but only when he gets drunk. Most of the time he behaves himself," she told the officer. She looked over at the vaquero and smiled. "He’s really cute when he’s sober and acts like a gentleman, but when he gets mad or drunk, watch out!"

The vaquero Robello actually appeared abashed at her words and eyed his friend, Ledesma with a smug smile. Angel Ledesma only rolled his eyes in disgust at what he just heard. Robello whispered to him in an angry tone, "What are you rolling your eyes for, stupid?"

"That woman is crazy," Angel retorted, not lowering his voice at all. "You are about as ‘cute’ as a horse’s rear end. Don’t ask me why I ever stand up for you. All it does is get me into trouble."

"Why, you toad! You ungrateful goat! Who do you think was paying for your drinks?" shouted Robello. He jumped to his feet and faced the other vaquero with his fist clenched.

"Señores, enough of this!" interrupted De las Fuentes, raising his voice and slapping his hand on the desktop.

"And who do you think owes me five pesos and thinks he can pay it off by buying me a drink that I could pay for myself," roared Ledesma, ignoring the officer and not the least intimidated by Robello. He rose to his feet as well.

Diego de la Vega covered his face with a hand and began laughing quietly. Most of those assembled were torn between shock and amusement.

There was the sudden and unmistakable sound of a saber being unsheathed. Everyone froze as Conchita Cortéz screamed. The bickering men turned around and saw the officer approaching them with a naked sword in hand. Both of them swallowed hard.

Alejandro de la Vega rose. "Capitán de las Fuentes," he began.

De las Fuentes poked his saber at the leather vest of Ledesma. "Sit down," he commanded. The vaquero plopped into his seat. The officer turned to Robello. "Ten peso fine for violating the dignity of this hearing. If I hear one more word out of either of you, it will be another ten pesos for every word you utter. Do I make myself understood?"

Robello nodded and sat down carefully, eying the still-drawn saber of the comandante.

There was silence in the room as everyone wondered what would happen next.

The captain stood staring at the two vaqueros until they lowered their eyes to the floor. "You men contribute a great deal to an urge I have to abandon the notion of the ‘Philosopher King’," he began. "Are you such undisciplined savages that you stand in contempt of the Law and the King whom God has fashioned to bring reason and recourse to humankind? It is the duty of every prince not only to govern well, but also to conduct himself with tolerance towards those who behave in a manner that bespeaks their right to dignity. However, you two ruffians belie the very precept."

Diego and Alejandro looked at each other again, but this time their look bespoke a definite curiosity and respect for the officer upon whom every eye was fastened.

The captain took a few steps back and forth as he lectured the two prisoners. "Perhaps here on the far frontiers of Spain, men like you forget what it is to be men, men who were fashioned in the likeness of God. Braying asses have more dignity than you have displayed this afternoon, and probably more intelligence. Since your ignorance is more to be pitied than not, it is my duty to remind you of yours, one I trust that you will not soon forget – to your peril."

The officer paused, brought his blade up to eye level, examined it, and dropped it back down to his side again. "Less than one hundred and fifty years ago, Bishop Bossuet spelled out the basis of our civilization in a treatise called _Politique tirée des propres paroles de l'Ecriture Sainte_. The point of his book was to remind men of what it is that makes us civilized. First, as most of us know, God created the universe and is king over all. God created kings on Earth, princes to rule in his name. Just as God shares power with no one, neither does a king or prince. But princes, like God, do not rule arbitrarily, but with self-imposed laws. Here on Earth we, too, have laws. Like God, kings and princes are bound by laws. These laws are ones that we make, hopefully, with divine guidance, and carry out the same way."

"Now, our jurisprudence has its foundation in the laws of nature, that is to say, in reason and in equity, meaning balance. Without balance there is chaos and with chaos there is an end to reason and an end to civilization. The law of nature is God’s law and balance is at its epicenter. Balance means reason, stability, and order. Our system of monarchy and the King’s law is the best system of government. It is the oldest and most common form of government because it provides the best protection against strife and division. If you men indulge yourself in uncontrolled passions, such as those displayed at this hearing, you are not only violating the foundation of our kingdom, but you are engaging in the worst kind of conduct that can only appeal to the forces of darkness which are the forces of disaster. Although we sometimes appear harsh in our decisions, the subjects of the King must know this – we are here, not just to render judgment in such cases as these, but to protect all subjects from oppression and injustice."

"Finally, what is the consistency of justice and injustice in the case being examined at this hearing? It is our duty as comandante of this pueblo to ensure justice for all parties. Under the law of nature, there must, therefore, ensue a balance of all things. These two men created chaos and strife. They did so voluntarily. Their actions led to disturbances, destruction of property, the heightening of emotions, perhaps even to indigestion. A balance must, therefore, be struck. It is our duty to re-establish a balance. Unfortunately, we cannot restore conditions as if they had never happened. We can only render a verdict in order to give some justice to everyone. The kind of justices rendered, however, will be quite different because one justice is for the perpetrators of imbalance and the other will be for those most adversely affected by it."

De las Fuentes turned back from the audience to the two men who were now looking fairly contrite. "Our judgment is tempered by the fact that neither of these men acted out of maliciousness, but, rather, by impetuosity and undisciplined exuberance."

"First, it is our verdict that Señor Ávila be released without charges since he attempted to defuse the situation and to defend the person and honor of Señorita Cortéz. Second, the other two men, Señores Robello and Ledesma, were in violation of public order. They damaged property – chairs, tables, wine bottles, meals, clothing, and other items. They showed disrespect to their betters and to the arresting authorities, disregarding orders to cease and desist. They also showed a blatant disregard for the dignity of this hearing and the person of the hearing officer. The charge of curfew violation is spurious in regards to these arrests and will therefore be dismissed."

"This verdict awards to the proprietor, Señor Ríos, the damages done to his inn and business. This totals twenty-eight pesos. This includes payment for the meals of three customers who asked for compensation and for wages due his employees. The actions of the two men also resulted in the wrongful imprisonment of Señor Ávila, which will cost them an additional ten pesos to the defendant. On top of this are various fines that will be consolidated under the definition ‘disorderly conduct’ rather than the more serious charges of assaulting the arresting officers of the king, charges that could result in lashes and a longer jail sentence. These fines total fifteen pesos each. Since their past records show only minor infractions of the law of a nonviolent nature, we temper our punishment as well. Señor Robello must pay an additional ten pesos to the administration for disrespectful conduct. Señores Robello and Ledesma will remain in jail a few days in order for them to meditate further on their actions and its repercussions."

The comandante re-sheathed his saber and returned to stand behind his desk. He looked out at the spectators as if addressing them personally." I can only pray that the justice that they receive today will modify, in the future, their behavior towards their fellow subjects and towards His Majesty’s representatives. The case is now closed."

*********************

The crowd began to disperse after the two vaqueros were escorted out of the room and back to jail. There was a respectful silence as the audience left the office. Once outside, their voices rose to an appreciable volume.

Don Alejandro and his son Diego waited until everyone else left. As they began to leave the comandante’s office, the officer approached them. "Don Alejandro, may we have a word with you?"

Both men halted and turned back towards the officer. "Yes, Your Excellency?" Alejandro asked .

"My apologies to you gentlemen," De las Fuentes began. "I regret I was unable to respond to you while engaged in the heat of this case."

"Not at all, Comandante," Diego responded. "I must say that your handling of the situation was masterful. You actually had all of us pretty worried for a moment, but you made your point and re-established control over a very difficult situation."

"Capitán de las Fuentes," Alejandro said with enthusiasm, "I have heard few military officers or even the more erudite servants of the Crown express themselves in such a clear and precise manner, explaining the essence of the law and the responsibilities of all the subjects of the king. Everyone here today learned a valuable lesson that they will not soon forget about the kind of justice that we long for but rarely enjoy. Thank you, Your Excellency!"

"Your words are too generous, Señores," De las Fuentes smiled. "So far, these matters at hand have been clear to us and the application of law and justice not a difficult one to ascertain. However, this final case, a new one, may prove more difficult and I request that you return to this office within fifteen minutes in order to testify, should that be necessary. If you prefer not to, it is your choice, but it may be helpful if you do."

"I am honored by your request," Alejandro replied.

"I hope that I, too, can be of some help," added Diego. "Just who is involved in this final case, if I may ask?"

"A man who claims that he once worked for you, Don Alejandro, and one who now threatens much violence. His name is Joaquín Enríquez."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 5](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante5.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	5. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Five**

Don Alejandro de la Vega and his son, Diego, stood outside the cuartel, enjoying the sun a bit and watching the parade of carts and walkers in the plaza.

"You know, Diego, this Capitán de las Fuentes is a most unusual fellow. Not too many men could stand in front of an audience and give a concise rendition of the _Politique tirée des propres paroles de l’Ecriture Sainte_."

"I’m not really sure I remember what that is, Father," Diego replied.

"Ah, probably because it is an older system of belief. Historically, it was the most eloquent treatise ever written defining the doctrine of the Divine Right of Kings and defending traditional monarchy as the best form of government. The basis of this belief was the idea of ‘natural law’ and the notion that our lives are predestined."

"Even Capitán Monastario is not enlightened enough to argue justice from this perspective," Diego mused thoughtfully.

"It is even more unusual because those who generally espouse this doctrine, especially after the American and French revolutions, are monarchs or their most ardent supporters in the church or in the hierarchy of the nobility closest to the king. They won’t even consider the idea of a constitutional monarchy let alone a republic. Yet here is a captain who uses, on occasion, the royal ‘we’ and who seems to have an educational level or training well above his station, especially for his age," Alejandro pointed out. "It struck me on a few occasions, but most forcefully in his final speech."

"You know, Father, it might be a very good idea to invite Capitán de las Fuentes out for an early dinner. We may learn much about him through various conversations. And I agree with you on the point you made - for some reason, he does not seem to be what he appears to be - just a capitán."

"Just one more thought, Diego. From somewhere and from some point in time, I seem to remember his name or perhaps a name similar to his. I haven’t been able to pinpoint it yet," Alejandro said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could do a little ‘research’ yourself."

"I believe that I will," responded his son. "But what about this fellow that the capitán mentioned, Joaquín Enríquez? Who is he? I thought there was a hearing just for seven men."

"Ah, a troubled fellow. I had to let him go. He had a violent temper and started fights all the time," his father explained. "I had the feeling that he was either going to kill someone or be killed. I did not need riffraff like that around."

"Did this happen while I was in Spain?"

"Yes, and fortunately for the both of us, it did. I don’t think you would have sat by for long and endured his insolence or his behavior. I gave him work because he had energy and was strong, but I soon regretted it because after a few weeks he began to neglect his duties and drink. I am curious, however, why he brought up the fact that he worked for me. It was only for about six weeks and it was over two years ago."

Sergeant García appeared at the entrance of the cuartel and looked to the right, then to the left. He spotted the De la Vegas and strode over. "Excuse me, Don Alejandro," he said. "The Comandante will be starting the last hearing in a few minutes and told me to ask you to come in before everyone else, if you would like. After that, I will make my announcement."

"Thank you, Sergeant," replied Diego. "Oh, Sergeant, I have a question for you."

"Sí, Don Diego?" the big man inquired.

Diego took the sergeant’s elbow confidentially. "You know, Sergeant, the new comandante seems to be an exceptional man. Tell me, do you have the same feeling?"

"Oh, sí, Don Diego," responded García amiably. "I have never met anyone like the capitán before. He is not just an ordinary officer of the Crown. He has foresight, even insight, and they come from the most unexpected nuances and spirits. They even come to him in the middle of the night."

"Uh, Sergeant, that is quite an original analysis," remarked Diego with some surprise as he noted the astonished look on his father’s face at the sergeant’s words.

García seemed pleased at the compliment. "Gracías, Don Diego. When I listen to Capitán de las Fuentes, it seems that I hear the words of a prince, not those of a comandante. It is not often that a soldier like me can serve a prince and I am very happy to obey him."

"He must be very impressive to serve under, Sergeant, for you to refer to him as a ‘prince’," Diego replied.

"Oh, but he _is_ a prince, Don Diego" García smiled. He gestured for the two men to hurry inside. "Please Señores, enter the cuartel. I must make my announcement, but only after you go inside the comandante’s office."

"A prince?" Alejandro asked as he walked briskly inside. "I wonder. I just wonder," he mused to himself.

"Wonder what, Father?" asked Diego. "Perhaps the good sergeant did not mean it literally."

"Let’s discuss this later," his father answered and retreated into his own thoughts.

Diego looked thoughtful himself and began to wonder what the final hearing would be like. Well, they would all soon see.

*******************

The prisoner was brought struggling from his cell across the grounds of the cuartel. From outside his shouts could be heard – coarse oaths at the soldiers. The dozen or so people who had taken their chairs in the office of the Comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles heard Sergeant García urging him to calm down, but the man’s vindictive seemed to know no bounds.

"The Devil take the comandante! I curse him! Let him beat me again! Go, ahead, whip me! Lash me! I don’t care, just do your worse!"

All eyes were on the door as the voices came nearer and nearer. There was the sound of scuffling on the porch. De las Fuentes went over to the door and opened it. On the porch outside the Oficina del Comandante were Sergeant García and two soldiers. Between the two soldiers was a third man with wild black eyes and black hair. His large white teeth contrasted to his unshaven stubbled face. He wore brown vaquero trousers, a stripped shirt and short black jacket of light wool decorated with brass studs. He was taller than the officer by a head, leaner, and he wore short black boots. His hands were cuffed together and his feet were chained.

"What is all this commotion about, Sergeant?" De las Fuentes asked calmly in his deep baritone.

The struggling group froze a moment at the officer’s appearance. The black-haired man attempted to throw off the soldiers at his elbows as the soldiers paused looking up at the captain.

"Your pardon, Comandante, but this prisoner is causing too much trouble," García responded. "I have tried to talk reason to him, but he will not listen."

"The Devil take you!" shouted the prisoner. "The Devil take all of you! Unhand me!"

"Are you Señor Enríquez?" asked De las Fuentes in a mild tone.

"I’m not the king of Spain!" retorted Enríquez, still struggling with the two soldiers.

"Are you capable of walking of your own accord without the help of these two gentlemen?" asked the officer.

"Are you stupid? How would you like walking with your feet chained together?" snorted the man.

"Don’t you talk that way to our comandante!" García reprimanded Enríquez. "You mind your manners."

"Mind your manners! Mind your manners!" the prisoner mocked him. "The Devil take all your comandantes and all the stupid sergeants in the world!"

"Sergeant García, why was this man’s legs chained?" asked De las Fuentes.

"Well, Comandante, he was kicking all the soldiers and tried to run off. He even kicked the other prisoners."

"That’s a lie!" snarled Enríquez.

"What part of the sergeant’s statement is a lie?" De las Fuentes asked the man.

Joaquín Enríquez paused a moment at the question, then grinned. "I didn’t kick the other prisoners," he said. He ran his eyes over the officer opposite him. "Where’s Capitán Monastario? I don’t want any Frenchman interfering with my business in Los Angeles."

De las Fuentes looked over one shoulder, then another. He then peered out to the yard of the cuartel and looked over each of the soldiers carefully. "Sergeant García, do you see any Frenchmen here in the cuartel?"

García looked around hesitantly, "Uh, no, Capitán, I do not."

"Are you sure?" De las Fuentes asked. "There are none lurking on the roof or behind the rain barrel or under the plants? You don’t see the monster Bonaparte peering out from among the horses in the stable? Not even one of the Old Guard?"

"No, Comandante, I do not," answered García more firmly.

"Good," replied the officer, "for I see none as well." He turned to Enríquez. "I would like to assure you that your personal safety will not be compromised to the French, Señor. Since you have been reassured of this fact, could you possibly walk into my office unassisted by the soldiers of Spain?"

"It would help if my feet were unchained," the prisoner suggested slyly.

"I assume that you will be honorable and not attempt any undue escapes?" De las Fuentes asked, not really expecting a response. He gestured for García to unlock the leg shackles.

García gave the officer a long look that conveyed his apprehension over obeying such an order. But he removed the shackles, picked them up and held them in his hand.

"Ah, that’s better," commented Enríquez, shaking one leg and then another. "Chains cramp my style." He started to step forward, then punched out his arms to the right and left and bolted for the gates of the cuartel. He tried to dodge the two sentries at the gates of the cuartel but one of them threw himself at the prisoner’s feet and tripped him. Enríquez tumbled to the ground.

A moment later Sergeant García and the two soldiers reached him. García pulled him up by the collar and hauled him back to the porch of the comandante’s office. The sergeant was angry. "You have no honor. You tried to escape after the capitán had your chains released!" he told Enríquez.

Enríquez spat out the dirt in his mouth and only grinned. He looked at De las Fuentes and remarked, "I believe you said that I would not attempt any ‘undue’ escape. However, my escape is long overdue!"

"Take this man inside and put him in the prisoner’s chair," the captain told the two soldiers as if nothing had happened. As they took Enríquez inside, De las Fuentes leaned towards the sergeant and whispered a few words. García nodded, "Sí, Comandante, I will do it."

****************

Diego de la Vega returned to his seat after watching the drama unfold in the cuartel from the window in the office. He looked Enríquez over carefully as the man was seated in a chair to the right of the comandante’s desk. The man’s dark eyes darted around the room as if looking for an escape and his look was crafty. Apparently, he would look for any opportunity to exploit a situation to his advantage.

As De las Fuentes took his place behind his desk and made his opening remarks, the prisoner seemed strangely uninterested in either the charges read or in the figures from the audience who rose and accused him of robbery, extortion and even attempted murder.

He only perked up at the last charge, saying in a loud voice, "If I ‘attempted’ the murder of your son, Señor, it would have not been an attempt, but a success."

Finally, Don Alejandro de la Vega rose and related how one Joaquín Enríquez had worked for him a short while two years before. "The only redeeming characteristic of Señor Enríquez was that when he put his mind to it, he did a good job. Unfortunately his attention to his duties petered out. It is my opinion that he does not have the discipline necessary to hold down a job successfully or for very long. It was why I dismissed him."

The prisoner laughed aloud, ignoring De las Fuentes’ request that he not interrupt the proceedings. "I am not a horse to be broken and tamed, Señor," he retorted. "No one is the master of my fate. I alone am. I submit to no one. I deny nothing and I admit nothing."

"You are a philosophical curiosity, Señor Enríquez, for you deny what is evident to most men," the captain commented. "Horses are, after all, tamed in different manners from their birth. Some are merely gentled, pastured and grow lazy without the discipline of constant riding. Still others are highly trained and become indispensable parts of the lives of men or the plans of men. God above is the master of all our fates and we cannot escape His design on us. Whether you know it or not, you do submit to Him, for it is He who causes our hunger, and we submit by eating; He causes our thirst, and we submit by drinking; He causes us to give mercy or to show none; He causes us to desire sleep and we submit, no matter how hard to try to stay awake; and finally, to deny nothing and to admit nothing leads to only one conclusion – that you are nothing, for you cannot be and not be at the same time."

The prisoner looked over the audience and watched as several silently nodded their heads at the officer’s words. He shook his head and snorted. "And I submit it is you who are the curiosity, Frenchman. Tell me this, does God order a father to beat his son daily, deaf to a child’s cries for mercy? Does God tell a mother to cover her ears to the blows and to blind herself to the bruises and the blood flowing from a nose, mouth or ears? Do you really believe, as you just said, that God ‘causes us to give mercy or show none’ _– ‘to show none’_? Let’s all show none to our enemies, once we’ve made everyone our enemy – and it’s all divine and blessed – mass slaughter. What does one or two or twenty matter when you can take them all on?"

"You are ignoring the balance that God gives to the world," De las Fuentes replied. "God gave man free will and the ability to make choices based on his reason, on the one hand, and the moral code He gave us, on the other. There are those who chose, freely, to not obey His moral code. They act in defiance through an overindulgence in drink, greed, or even ego, but it is for Man to make the choice between what is right and what is wrong."

"And God gave us the Inquisition, and Bonaparte, and the desire to pillage and plunder. Where is your balance there?" shouted Enríquez. "What causes shooting stars that create terror in men? Why do shiploads of innocents perish at sea in storms? What caused the earthquake in Lisbon? Sin? Nature? Too many buildings put on the land? If you don’t have the answers, then don’t talk to me about ‘balance.’

"Señor Enríquez, we are not deaf. Could you possibly speak in a normal tone of voice?" the captain requested. "Let us proceed to the charges."

"You don’t understand your own philosophy," replied Enríquez in a normal tone of voice and full of deadly intent. "You see, I am the balance that you talk about. In this world there are goody-goodies like little old ladies, priests, puerile schoolteachers, senile military officers, and other buffoons. There has to be a balance the other way – thieves, murderers, smugglers, buccaneers, bishops, bankers, kings, and other con men. You need us because without us there would be no balance." He looked smugly at De las Fuentes.

"Your speech is very clever," the officer responded mildly, "but not entirely accurate. You equate balance with extremism and extremism has nothing to do with the balance of nature or human behavior. It goes far beyond what normal limitations are and is, therefore, considered abnormal. If you recall the scientist Isaac Newton, who pointed out that ‘for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,’ - and it is there you find extremes when men and their actions become extreme. However, centrality is the balance between the two. To maintain balance is the basis of a civilized and prosperous society. To seek to justify actions of theft or murder as somehow balancing honesty and thrift, you distort the very meaning of the word."

"On the contrary, it is **_you_** who are very clever with words, mon capitán," laughed Enríquez. "There are ‘extremes’ everywhere. It seems to me that it depends on who is defining ‘normal’ and who is defining ‘extremes.’ A merchant who robs his customers to make a small profit as opposed to a large one, is still a thief. What makes a man any different who just directly pillages money as opposed to one who indirectly steals it? Theft is theft, yet people like you would condemn the highwayman as opposed to the merchant or the tax collector or the king. Who makes the laws that favor one kind of theft over another? Does God? Is hoarding or accumulating gold not also theft? Should the man with too much on his plate be favored over the one who steals so there will be something on his plate or on his children’s plates? Where is the damned balance? What happened to understanding what makes one man bad and the other good? And what is ‘bad’ and what is ‘good’? Who defines what is ‘normal’ and what is ‘abnormal.’ Take a look and judge!"

With that the prisoner jumped up in on the chair next to him and shouted to the spectators. "If I’m raised up off the ground and looking down at you from above, does that make me better than you? Can I dispense justice easier from up here? How about if I put a crown on my head? Yes, your Lordship, No, your Worship. Bark, bark, your Majesty! Moo! Moo! Mon General! If you gag my mouth does that make me normal? Is your equation in balance?"

The officer waved aside the soldiers who approached the prisoner to pull him down. He yawned as if incredibly bored. "I take it, Señor, that you enjoy having an audience for your primitive displays? A lower-ranking primate would do well to learn from your antics. You still have not answered any of the charges to anyone’s satisfaction."

"And I won’t," shouted Enríquez. He jumped off the chair, ran for the door, opened it and collided with García who blocked the door. The smaller man literally bounced off the big man’s stomach back into the office, landing on his back. The two soldiers hauled him up off the floor and dragged him back to the chair near the comandante.

Alejandro de la Vega whispered to his son. "He is eloquent, but he is also mad."

Diego whispered back. "He certainly has issues. He’s a very angry man."

"Señor Enríquez," De las Fuentes resumed in a calm voice. "I think we can agree that this hearing can have a balance. On the one hand, there are several men here who have accused you of certain deeds that are crimes in our society. They have brought with them witnesses. On the other hand, you are also allowed to refute their charges and present your own witnesses. Do you wish to refute them or present your own witnesses?"

"I do not recognize your method of determining what is just and what is not," declared Enríquez. "If you find me guilty in any way, then you are signing your own death warrant."

There was a shocked silence followed by gasps from many of the spectators. Diego frowned heavily as if he could not believe what he was hearing. Did this man want to see how far he could go with the comandante?

"You do not understand, Señor Enríquez," De las Fuentes explained. "This is not a trial. It is merely a hearing. It is my duty to weight the evidence and make a determination of what penalties may be imposed. Since there have been no bodies displayed, you could not be guilty of murder. However, to threaten other subjects of the king or his representatives with death is a punishable offense. You cannot declare that you will take the lives of other men and expect that there will not be repercussions for your statements. As for evidence, let us examine what we found in your possession." He nodded to one of the soldiers who picked up a sack next to the wall and opened it. He began to place the contents on the floor.

Displayed before the assembled townsmen were gold coins, silver teapots, a silver-inlayed pistol, some knives with elaborate carvings, and a gold necklace with jewels on it. There was a gold crucifix, a gold-plated snuffbox, a gold watch, various pieces pewter, silverware, and small portraits of women and children in silver plated frames. Some had been wrapped in cloth or soft leather.

There were exclamations from several members of the audience. "That’s my pistol!" "There is my wife’s crucifix!" "Señor Moreno’s painting of his wife and children!"

Alejandro de la Vega looked surprised. "My old gold snuff box!" He looked at Diego in astonishment. "It’s been missing for almost two years!"

The comandante stood up. "These items were found in the prisoner’s possession. If you gentlemen will step forward and positively identify these objects, then we can ascertain whose charges are pertinent and whose are not."

Alejandro de la Vega stepped forward and examined the gold snuffbox that the soldier handed to him. He nodded and then looked over at Enríquez. "Why did you steal this, Joaquín? You were paid honest wages for the work you did for me."

Enríquez just smiled without embarrassment and shrugged. "You didn’t need it. You had others."

"Unknown to you, of course, was the fact that this was given to me by my late wife," De la Vega retorted in an offended manner. "It wasn’t just any snuff box."

"Tell me, Señor Enríquez," asked Diego, "why did you not get rid of these items at once? Most men would get rid of stolen property fairly quickly."

"It must have been sentimentality," responded the prisoner, but he showed no more interest in speaking to anyone other than to acknowledge the items. "If any of you take the items back, you will just be increasing your risk when I retrieve them."

"Then you not only admit that you stole them, but that you will steal them again," commented De las Fuentes. "You are forging the chains that bind you without anyone’s aid. What is your motive?"

"I’m a Jackdaw, Frenchman. I collect pretty things that take my fancy."

"There is a difference between collecting objects for display that you purchased at your own behest," stated the officer, "and confiscating them from others who parted with them unwillingly. Under our laws, such confiscation is deemed theft and there are penalties under the law for theft."

"If you can prove that my theft is any worse than anyone else’s, then I will accept guilt. If not, then I accept nothing," declared the black-haired man.

"It is not my intention to judge all other men at this hearing, but to judge your deeds and to determine any penalties commensurate with your actions," De las Fuentes replied. "That is the only purpose we are here today." He turned towards the men examining the pile of stolen goods. "Will you gentlemen please return to your seats? These items will be returned to you following the hearing."

The officer turned back to the prisoner. "You forget a number of changes in the balance of our world, Señor Enríquez. In the old days, just over a century ago, thieves had their fingers or hands removed. Before that, ears, noses and other body parts were removed. Thieves were branded on their cheeks or foreheads so that all would know their shame. We no longer do these things because we seek to be enlightened and give punishments commensurate with the crime committed. Even our punishments seek to correct behavior rather than be punitive."

"I suggest that you hang me because, if you don’t, you will wish that you had!" declared Enríquez. "If you don’t like seeing me kick while I dangle, then be more enlightened and shoot me."

"Your desire for death is tantamount to suicide and under our religion, suicide is a forbidden sin. Men are no longer hanged for theft, Señor, but jailed," the captain told him.

"Then I will kill all of you!" shouted Enríquez. "Any man that takes from my collection will die. Any man that attempts to hold me prisoner will die!"

"Then you are not even allowing yourself any justice," commented De las Fuentes. "For you sentence yourself to a penalty that no one else will grant you."

"There is no justice on this Earth," the prisoner screamed. "And you are no better than the other hangman!" He expected De las Fuentes to respond in the shocked manner of the audience, but the officer just regarded him calmly and said nothing. Enríquez gave full sway to his emotions. "All you know is how to beat me and beat me again. Then you send in the priest to pray over the split flesh and tell me to repent when it is you who should repent. And if you can’t beat me, you shut me in a dark cell like an animal and leave me there for weeks, months or even years. This is your justice; these are your prayers; these are your punishments. What makes you think that they are humane or just, simply because they don’t take a life? Taking a life is more humane than not. When I administer justice it will be humane and I will take your life. I will not hesitate to do so!" He looked around at the silent spectators and turned to the comandante. "Aren’t you going to shut me up, gag me, and bind me, just like all the rest do?"

De las Fuentes regarded him without anger. "There is no point adding to injustice by committing other injustices," he said. "Death is the ultimate injustice and to commit it is a crime."

"Everything has become a crime, even to speak the truth," shouted Enríquez, as if not listening to the captain’s words. He was becoming exhausted by his own exuberance and slumped back into the chair.

"Ah, but what is the Truth?" asked De las Fuentes. "For even those who speak the word see only one side of what they perceive as the truth and it is a quality that has many dimensions. Truth for one man is a lie to another, so what can truth be based upon? Truth is not just facts, which it is, but it is an accounting of _all_ the facts, from _all_ sides and must take into account other qualities, which make up the nature of man and his duty to God."

Enríquez looked up at the officer, listening carefully for a change.

"You speak of the Truth," De las Fuentes continued, "but Truth must also include the quality of justice and our notion of justice. How these qualities conflict to those of Satan! The Devil believes that selfishness, a lust for power, or riches, or hedonism should be the human endeavor. How our truth clashes so completely with His! Our endeavor must be that Truth encompasses the qualities of compassion, honor, and a responsibility of each to the other."

"Bah!" replied the prisoner.

"Let me give you an example," the officer explained. "A noble lord may feel that in times of troubles, such as floods, pestilence, or drought that his subjects need to pay him the usual taxes, not taking into account events, deprivations, or catastrophe. He is a lord that wants to buy another carriage or travel to far-off lands, to enjoy what he has always enjoyed while closing his eyes to the people he is responsible for. He is a man who has hardened his heart to all but his own concerns and desires. For this lord, it is his ‘truth’ and he will create laws, regulations, and rules - which he often makes up himself for expediency’s sake - to satisfy his own selfishness. He will commit many injustices against others to put his world in order for his own sake, rather than on terms other than his own."

"Then there is another kind of lord, a man who sees with his eyes and knows that although he is noble, it is his moral duty to not tax men during times of want and need; he is aware that it is his duty to open his granaries and feed the hungry; he feels his honor is slighted if any commoner, serf or slave suffers needlessly. And perhaps more importantly, he understands that an honorable enemy is more worthy of his respect than a dishonorable friend. For this lord, these are other kinds of truths, but they are truths in the broader sense in that they concern not the selfishness of the individual towards humankind, but the generosity and worthiness of man to men in general. It is not my concern that there may be rude or lazy individuals among men in general in this broad view. My concern is that we are all the children of the same Creator and we share that commonality. It is this recognition of our commonality that our notion of justice must spring from."

Enríquez laughed softly when De las Fuentes finished speaking. "I always thought Don Quixote was an idiot," he remarked. "Now I see him in the flesh."

*********************

"You know, Father," Diego mused to his Father after Alejandro claimed his snuffbox at the end of the hearing and they were walking towards the gates of the cuartel. "Capitán de las Fuentes is an odd mixture of many philosophies, yet Humanism seems to be at the heart of all of his beliefs."

"I’m a bit concerned that he did not take Señor Enríquez’s threats more seriously," remarked Alejandro. "He has returned him to jail for theft, yet refuses to lash him either for the thefts or for his insolence. Capitán Monastario would certainly have hanged him just for his rudeness. And yet I am convinced that Capitán de las Fuentes is genuine in all his principles."

Diego shook his head. "I have the feeling that Señor Enríquez wanted to be lashed or kept chained because in his own mind he seems to feel that he is a martyr for all the injustices that have been inflicted upon him or upon others by society. He was goading the comandante into sentencing him to death."

"Diego, when I told you that this man is mad, I was not joking. As you know, there are degrees of madness and I am sure that he fits somewhere in its spectrum." Alejandro shook his head. "That is why he is a pitiful as well as a dangerous man. His behavior, as such, is unpredictable and that is where some of the danger lies. That he is angry and violent compounds the problem. God help us all if he escapes confinement."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 6](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante6.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	6. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Six**

It was after nine in the evening when Capitán de las Fuentes finished a light supper with Padre Felipe at the inn. Felipe told him much about the history of Los Angeles and its accomplishments. He spoke of its newly established orchards, the cattle lands, the gallant dons and accomplished tradesmen. He related how local politics had changed with the crisis in the Américas and how the crisis could be compared in the local conflict between the inhabitants of Los Angeles and their current comandante, Capitán Enrique Monastario. Padre Felipe believed that the comandante was an aberration in an otherwise tolerant and open pueblo. He mentioned how a local outlaw, Zorro, was responsible for righting many wrongs perpetrated by the comandante.

To his surprise, the captain nodded saying that such men arose when they were needed and should not be condemned unnecessarily for their actions. He wondered if anyone had ever tried to persuade El Zorro to join the forces of the government to fight such corruption. Felipe smiled and said that in all likelihood, El Zorro actually helped the government, even if its officials didn’t appreciate the fact. And because they did not, they branded him an outlaw.

Felipe then changed the subject and spoke of the rising level of culture, the prosperity of the rancheros and the growth of the town. He told him of the successful conversion of the indigenous Californian tribes; of the twenty-one beautiful missions that had been established from San Diego to San Francisco that followed the El Camino Real along rivers and streams from south to north; and of the wonders of the landscape.

The officer was a good listener, but he appeared distracted by something. After a while he rose and excused himself for the rest of the evening.

"Are you off to church again, Capitán?" asked Felipe with a smile.

"Not this time. I have a call to make. However, you will see me there in the morning. It is a custom of mine," replied the officer.

"I wish your predecessor was as diligent in his devotions as you are," remarked the priest. "I don’t think he’s been in church since the old war, and if he has been, it’s been for the wrong reasons."

The captain bowed out diplomatically with a pang of guilt, knowing that appearances could be deceiving at all levels of society. With that he left the inn and headed down a nearby side street and toward the residence of Señor Sebastián Pérez, the father of the charming young lady, Margarita, whom he met earlier that day. He was struck by her sincere interest in music and culture, for it was a favorite, though recently neglected, pastime of his and he met few ladies with the enthusiasm she displayed. There was only one other lady to whom she could compare, but he would not think of her for now.

The Pérez family had finished a quiet dinner. The silence was almost ominous. Sebastián Pérez kept trying to catch his daughter’s eye and had failed. Margarita either looked at her plate or at the various paintings that adorned the whitewashed walls. The man gave his wife, María, a long look and decided that it was about time to broach a serious topic, one that his daughter was obviously avoiding. He was about to begin to lecture her about turning down the latest suitor when there was a knock at the front door. An elderly manservant, Martín, announced that there was a gentleman who wished to call upon the family and to pay his respects to Margarita. It was a stranger, he noted.

Margarita frowned, got up abruptly without ceremony, and headed out of the room without a word, thinking it was just another suitor. She was heading up the stairs when her father went to the door himself in expectation. When she heard the voice of the comandante, she stopped in her tracks.

"Welcome, Capitán de las Fuentes, to our home. Won’t you come in?" her father asked.

She could not hear the officer’s reply, but heard her father say, "I’m afraid that Margarita has retired for the evening."

She didn’t wait another moment but gathered up her long skirts and raced back down the stairs towards the front door. No one was there when she arrived. Perhaps, they were there, in the sala, on the right. She practically collided with the doorjamb in her hurry and literally bounced into the sitting room.

Her father and mother looked up in surprise at the thud at the room entrance. They had just sat down in chairs. Her eyes went directly to the small man in his blue and white uniform with the scarlet sash and black boots. At his side was a saber. He looked up and smiled in recognition as she appeared. He stood up at once. His brown hair was thick and his moustache and beard seemed to make his face appear thinner than she remembered.

"Oh, Capitán de las Fuentes," she breathed, almost out of breath. "How nice to see you again."

"My dear Señorita Pérez, I hope I have not dropped by at an inconvenient time to pay my respects to you and to your family?" he asked in his deep baritone.

A hand fumbled at the frilly collar of her high-necked blouse while another smoothed her long black skirt. "Oh, no! Not at all," she said and moved toward him. She knew he would kiss her hand and she stretched it out for him to take.

He bowed, took her hand, and kissed it. As he straightened up, he gave her a wink with one eye. "I was just telling your father and mother how indebted I am to you today for your great kindness to me." He escorted her to an empty chair next to her mother. She sat down in a graceful way, smoothing her dress beneath her, and he returned to his seat.

Neither of them noticed Señora María Pérez giving her husband an astonished look at her daughter’s friendly behavior toward the officer.

"You were saying, Capitán de las Fuentes, something about my daughter helping you out," Sebastián Pérez continued.

"Ah, yes," De las Fuentes began. "Your daughter was most helpful in reminding me, in church, that I needed to get back to the hearings that were conducted this afternoon. In doing so, she saved me from a great embarrassment." He smiled over at her.

Margarita waved her hand as if it were a trifle. "Oh, it was nothing, really. You just forgot about the time and I alerted you to it."

"Not so trifling as you would imagine," the officer continued. "It would never do for the hearing officer to be late for his own meeting. This young lady had a unique method, to say the least, of getting my attention." He looked over at her with an amused look on his face. She put a hand to her mouth to cover her embarrassed smile and she laughed a little while he continued, "And I managed to get there just as the church bell finished striking the hour."

"I’m pleased to hear that Margarita was so thoughtful in helping a stranger to our community," her father commented.

"Well, he wasn’t exactly a stranger. We had already met earlier," Margarita admitted. "Padre Felipe introduced me to Capitán de las Fuentes - I mean to us - Juanita, Ismaida, and me, in the plaza earlier."

"Is that so?" her mother asked. "Padre Felipe introduced you? How interesting." There was something in her tone that puzzled the officer. "Did you girls meet at church?"

"I went to Ismaida’s house and Juanita was there. Later we went to church, but first we met the Capitán," she explained. "Would you believe that he has been to Venice and Vienna? He’s heard all the famous composers of Europe. Isn’t that exciting?"

De las Fuentes looked pleased at how much she remembered from their encounter. "I believe this was mentioned after discovering that your daughter plays piano," he told her parents. "It is true that I met some composers and writers from other countries, but certainly not all of them. It was fortunate that, in my younger days, I met a few who also wrote fine piano music."

"That’s impressive," remarked Sebastián Pérez, who was not really interested at all. "I’m afraid that Margarita is the only serious musician in this family. Her sisters play a little, but she is the most dedicated. She practices hours almost every day, sometimes to the detriment of her social relations." He waved the elderly servant over. "Won’t you bring a glass of sherry for Capitán de las Fuentes and one for me as well?" The servant bowed formally and left.

There was an awkward pause after his last comment but Margarita hurried to cover it. "Didn’t you say you had met Señor Mozart and his sister?" she asked. "Do tell me about some of the other musicians."

"Yes, I met them, but when I was a boy, and on more than one occasion," he replied. "It might be of interest for you to know that all the major musicians of Europe know each other, study with each other, and learn from each other. For example, the German composer, Ludwig van Beethoven, studied with Mozart for a short time in Vienna, as well as much longer with Josef Hayden. Beethoven is one of the most formidable pianists I ever heard, an incredible improviser. He was most inspired by Muzio Clementi, the rival of Mozart. He also worked with Antonio Salieri and Johann Albrechtsberger, just two of his many mentors. Mozart was so impressed with Señor Beethoven that he said that, one day, he would cause quite a stir in the world. Of course, Beethoven’s politics were controversial because, at first, he supported Bonaparte and French republicanism. He later denounced Bonaparte for crowning himself emperor. However, politics aside, I was thoroughly enchanted at his orchestral performances, especially the Sixth Symphony, which is also called the 'Pastoral.' Señor Beethoven once remarked, at a reception I attended, that he wished for humans to celebrate nature in all its manifestations, no matter how inclement. He conveyed the astonishing idea – at least for us Spaniards – that humanity is a greater part of a larger environment – uncertain, dramatic, and imperious – the real controller of our lives. Some musicians are philosophers as well. I could speak to some extent about this but you would be here all night."

"I think that is fascinating," Margarita responded with enthusiasm. "To hear the composer play his own music and speak about what inspires him."

"Ah, here’s the sherry," her father interrupted as the servant offered De las Fuentes a glass from a silver platter. "Shall I propose a toast to the King?" They both rose.

"To the King," De las Fuentes repeated dryly and sipped the sherry. "I propose a toast to Spain." The two men drank again.

"I take it that you have been to Court on occasion?" Sebastián Pérez asked once they resumed their seats.

"Many times," the captain deadpanned, not failing to notice the impressed reaction on the man's face to what he considered a trifle. "And it is a subject that one could talk about forever as the politics of Court are intricate and multilayered. However, I am most interested in Señorita Margarita’s penchant for music, especially piano playing. To play a musical instrument is the mark of a cultivated person, one whose imagination, creativity and sensitivity for melodies, inspired by Heaven in some of the most brilliant minds ever to grace the European races, cannot be underestimated or denigrated as spurious or superfluous, for, ultimately, it is God who inspires and guides the musically talented into realms rarely trespassed upon by the uninitiated. It is our privilege to peer into these realms on occasion, indulging ourselves in the most minute beatitude, marveling at the exponentiation of melody and harmony, which not only captivates, but inspires and sublimates our emotions from the raw to the refined, exemplifying Creation at its most astonishing and sublime. Is it not so?"

"Uh, why, yes," her father responded uncertainly. "People who create music are certainly gifted, but one can be overly focused as well." He looked over at his daughter who looked positively captivated by the officer’s words.

"When I play music," Margarita interjected enthusiastically, uplifted by De las Fuentes’ astonishing dialogue, "I feel transformed into another place, a higher realm, soaring among the angels and the timelessness that is the beauty of music. I leave behind me, and far below, the base, the unimaginative, the coarse and the rude. It seems that most people not only do not understand this, they don’t want to. I see substance where they see nothing; I hear beauty while they are deaf to it; and I fly amongst the clouds on wings of unearthly materials while they tread the muddy bypasses, their souls burdened by the organic." She was astonished by her own outflow of words, all of which she attributed to De las Fuentes’ propensity for elaborate speech. Her heart felt light and filled with joy just talking about music.

"This is pure nonsense," Sebastián Pérez interrupted, frowning, and admonishing her. "It is fantasy, a flight of imagination and silliness. It is irresponsible and ridiculous."

"Not so, Señor," the captain shook his head in open disagreement. "Señorita Margarita understands very well that music can be a spiritual communication with God. One should be more discerning in this because your daughter has a rare gift, a gift that is at once beautiful and unique. It is hardly frivolous." With his deep baritone, his comment seemed more like a reprimand, although he spoke in a calm and mild manner.

"If you’ll excuse me," her mother interrupted. "I’ve neglected to give orders to the cook for tomorrow." She looked a little nervous even at the minor disagreement, which was, after all, just another opinion. She gestured for the servant to follow her.

The captain rose and bowed although her husband remained seated as she left the room. The officer understood at once that she did not like to hear disagreements with her husband and that was one reason that she departed. But, he was used to it. He had seen the late king, Carlos IV, depart the room for the same reasons when the queen became impassioned about one topic or another over which there was a difference of opinion. It seemed such a cowardly way to avoid discussion and enlightenment, he thought.

"Are you a musician yourself, Capitán? You speak like one who knows much of these matters," asked Pérez somewhat defensively and feeling out of his depth on the subject matter.

Margarita looked at De las Fuentes in great expectation. What she saw was a sad smile. It disconcerted her and fed her curiosity.

"I played once upon a time," he finally said, "but when the war came, I became its master instead. Someone very dear to me played the piano wondrously well." He cleared his throat and steered the direction of the conversation into safer waters. "There was an Irish general at Court and his wife played the harp. The music was not of this Earth; it was so magical. I later learned that a blind harpist had composed all the music. His name was Turlough O' Carolan. Perhaps his eyesight was better than ours, for he also wrote music to honor those that he knew even though he never saw their faces nor the world in which he lived."

"How interesting," yawned her father. "Would you care for another glass of sherry?"

The captain was going to turn him down because of his ill-humored attitude, but decided that if the father left the room he could make a request of the young lady. "I would be delighted, Señor Pérez," he replied.

As soon as the man left the room, De las Fuentes turned to the young woman. "Ah, Señorita Margarita, would it be asking too much for a favor, although you have honored me twice today already?"

"What kind of favor?" she asked.

"Could you play upon your piano?"

She was delighted at his request. "Yes, I will," she responded without hesitation. "Nothing would make me happier." She leapt to her feet and walked over to the dark mahogany seat with the velvet cover that stood in front of the piano. He followed her over to the instrument. She opened the seat and found her music sheets missing. "My music is gone!" she said in surprise.

"I am so sorry," he said, the disappointment quite evident in the tone of his voice.

She looked up into his eyes and touched the arm of his blue army tunic. "That won’t stop me from playing," she declared. "They can take away what is written, but not what is here." She tapped her forehead and watched the smile return to his lips. She sat down and thought a moment. "I’ll bet you know this piece," she began and her hands touched the keyboard. In a moment all the inhabitants of the house stopped to listen to the music pouring forth from the sala.

Alfonso Fernando Francisco de las Fuentes y Alarcón stood at her side and watched her hands glide over the keys. The memories flooded into his mind and he remembered a man with windblown, wavy hair playing at a piano a long time ago in the city of Vienna where he first heard the song. He remembered more clearly a young woman with beautiful long auburn hair who looked up at him passionately and played endlessly in Madrid and about whom he dreamed at night. Margarita looked up at him with a quiet smile and he nodded, ‘Für Elise’."

********************

"I thought you had gotten rid of that damned music," Sebastián Pérez told his wife in the kitchen. He was very irritated at hearing the piano play from the sala.

"I locked it away in your desk just like you told me," she told him, "but she probably has memorized all sorts of songs."

Her husband listened to the music a moment and shook his head. "What do you think of De las Fuentes?"

"He’s very well-mannered and spoken," María answered, "but you probably noticed the pock marks on his face. At least some of his whiskers cover them and the scars are not too bad. He looks positively foreign with that style of moustache and beard – but from the time of Richelieu."

"He’s an army officer, of course, but he’s probably married, judging by his age. He seems to be more interested in hearing her play music than in her," Sebastián commented.

"Margarita seems to like him. I have never seen her face glow the way it has tonight when talking with him or listening to him," her mother noted. "Perhaps she is changing her tune," she added hopefully.

"I wouldn’t count on it," her husband replied. "Nothing is safer than a married man and it gives her a chance to indulge herself in her fantasy world of music." He paused. "I am seriously considering getting rid of that piano. Once it is gone, she will face reality. I told Padre Felipe to talk to her tomorrow morning about reconsidering Salvador’s marriage proposal."

************************

Tomás Robello and Angel Ledesma sat side by side on the bench in the prison cell. It had grown dark and the night air was mild. From the cell door, they could see the stars beginning to appear in the night sky.

Ledesma shook his head and counted on his fingers again and again. He sighed for the tenth time that evening.

"What’s this counting on your fingers all about, Angel?" Robello asked. "You’ve been doing it all day."

"I’m thinking about all those fines we have to pay, Tomás," Ledesma said in a mournful tone of voice. "Just think – twenty-eight pesos to Señor Pacheco, fifteen pesos in fines, ten pesos for Benito, and ten pesos to the comandante. It seems like a fortune."

"Lucky for us we split the cost," Tomás observed. "When you think of it that way, it doesn’t seem so bad."

"Oh, sí," Ledesma responded. "I forgot. That means we pay only, uh, how much?"

"Forty-two each."

"But you have to pay the extra fine to the comandante and to me."

"What do you mean ‘to me?" Robello demanded.

"Well, Tomás you still owe me five pesos," Angel replied.

"Five pesos! Where the devil do you think I can conjure up five pesos when I owe all the rest of the fines? You can bet that the Capitán will get his ten before you get your five!" Tomás rebuked him testily.

"You would pay an army officer before you would pay your best friend?" shouted Ledesma. "What kind of a friend are you anyway? You got me in all this trouble and you show no gratitude, none!"

"He’s not just any army officer, stupid! He’s the comandante!" shouted Tomás in return.

"Oh, sí, that’s right," Angel responded in a conciliatory tone. "I forgot." He was quiet a spell. Then he asked Robello, "Say, Tomás, how much are you going to need for the fines?"

"Almost fifty pesos."

"Well, Tomás, if you borrow fifty pesos from me – plus the five you owe me – then you will owe me fifty-five pesos."

"No Angel, I will owe you fifty pesos. You have to subtract the five pesos I owe you from the amount I will borrow because I owe you them already."

"All right," said Ledesma. "But don’t forget to pay me back. This is the worst debt you have ever gotten me into. You will be paying me almost all of your wages for the next several years. You won’t be able to borrow any more money from me for a long time."

"Say, Angel, I have an idea. Maybe that comandante will let us trade some jail time for the fines. If you volunteer to stay here in jail, then I can get out and earn the money. Then when I have enough, I can come get you and pay you the fifty pesos that I owe you. You would leave jail a rich man!"

"I don’t know, Tomás. How long would I have to wait in jail?"

"Not too long. Why, look at the bright side. You will be getting free food, free bedding, free blankets and fresh air. The soldiers are friendly at this cuartel and this comandante isn’t bad at all. Who knows, you would have plenty of company and they say that free wine is served when you are here on the holidays."

Ledesma smiled. "Free wine on holidays? That sure beats paying at the tavern. Well, Tomás, it sounds like a good deal to me. I just want to sleep on it a little bit tonight."

"Sure, Angel. Think about it. Think about it all night. You will find that I am right as usual," Tomas told him. His friend, Angel, could not see him roll his eyes in the darkness. "The things I do for you!"  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 7](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante7.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	7. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Seven**

It was a cool morning, and there was still a hint of the early morning fogs that had turned the landscape from a crisp, clear one to a darker, more somber one. It was mid-morning before the sun ventured forth from the gloomy mists that cloaked the hillsides and even the pueblo itself. As the air warmed and the blue sky broadened, the birds re-emerged from their hiding places and began to sing in and around the plaza of the pueblo of Los Angeles.

Sergeant García frowned for the third time that morning as he heard the prisoner, Enríquez, yell out the word "Frenchman." The man shouted out the insult every time he saw the comandante leave or enter the cuartel. The first time it happened, he was walking with the Capitán. While the sergeant stopped to glare at the captive, the officer walked on as if he had heard nothing. García hastened to catch up to the small man. Before he could say anything, De las Fuentes commented: "Ah, Sergeant, it is such a trifling. If you respond to his insults, it only encourages him. So, if we ignore him enough, he will cease."

"Sí, Comandante," replied García. He was quiet a while, but it was obvious that he was troubled. "Begging your pardon, Capitán, but it is not right that he says that to you."

"Thank you for your loyalty, Sergeant García," De las Fuentes said. "There are some things in life that are not worth responding to. One of them is verbal provocation. Señor Enríquez must feel that he has nothing to lose, so he engages in childish behavior. When grown men act like children, it is best to treat them like children."

"But why would he want to insult _you_ , Comandante?" the sergeant persisted. "You have treated him kindly. Capitán Monastario already had him beaten and lashed yesterday for less insults."

By then the two men were standing outside the cuartel. The officer surveyed the plaza and gazed beyond the nearby buildings to the blue mountains to the north that overlooked the valley. "It’s going to be a good day," he said. After a moment he turned to the sergeant. "I am going to church, Sergeant, for a little while. Later, you and I will take a foray into the hills and the surrounding area. I’d like to see the layout of this town and become familiar with the surrounding roads."

"Sí, Capitán," the big man replied. He let out a long sigh.

The officer noted the soldier’s continuing concern. "You know, Sergeant, Señor Enríquez is a man who is greatly troubled by life and the only way he seems to know how to deal with its overwhelming tragedy is by lashing out at others, even if they are kind. Most people who act violently are either those who have been trained in violence or those who have been at its receiving end. Sadly, both end up on the same side of the equation and neither of them any closer to a solution that would solve their problems in a positive way. Too many men do not consider alternatives. It is why we need to meditate or pray. Such things give us time to reflect more carefully on the choices we must make in life rather than act basely or upon our fears. Meditation and prayer do not always give us the answers but, hopefully, they allow us to temper the decisions that we make."

The sergeant nodded. "You know, Capitán de las Fuentes, I believe that you are right. I meditate often myself."

"Do you, Sergeant?" De las Fuentes was interested.

"Sí. I like to meditate every night if I can."

"Do you go to church in the evening for meditation?"

"Well, not exactly, Capitán," García explained. "I go to the tavern. I meditate with wine. It helps me make those important decisions that you talked about."

"Ah," the captain replied with a bemused smile. "I did have a different kind of meditation in mind." He changed the subject. "I will return in a short while. Have two mounts waiting for our departure."

García saluted. "Sí, mi Capitán." He watched the officer walk in a relaxed manner across the cuartel until he disappeared through the massive wooden doors of the church on the far side of the plaza.

***********************

Margarita Pérez decided to wear pink. She had not worn the color in a long time, but she was feeling happy. She had played piano for Capitán de las Fuentes over forty-five minutes the night before and he had responded to each piece with quiet enthusiasm. She then questioned him about how he knew the history of the music so well and he, in turn, filled her ears with anecdotes and delightful details on the lives of the composers. She had never met anyone quite like the Capitán. She smiled to herself just thinking about him.

She searched around for some proper jewelry and had to remind herself that she was going to see Padre Felipe, not the debonair officer. She wished that she would see the small man in church today. The captain was so different, so refreshing. And he promised to come by and see her again. She sighed as she chose a golden cross to wear. He would probably like that, she thought.

Now, what kind of shawl should she wear? Maybe the black one with the embroidered flowers all around the edges. It was her own sewing and the flowers were yellow, purple and orange with bright green leaves.

She thought back again to the events of the night before. De las Fuentes was so focused in speaking with her that he did not even notice that her father had returned to the room with the glass of sherry. After waiting impatiently, Señor Pérez had returned to his chair and left the officer’s glass on an empty table. She didn’t notice Sebastian either, until he cleared his throat several times and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. De las Fuentes turned and apologized in his own unique fashion and she liked the way that her father was absolutely speechless and even powerless before the officer’s flow of knowledge and his courtly mannerisms. The captain had a way with authority, she thought, but it was an innate authority; it just wasn’t a part of the uniform, but an organic part of the man himself. She thought about how he swept his hat off his head when they had met in the plaza the day before. But when _he_ did it, it just wasn’t any man taking off any hat, but a man who knew how to turn the mere act of taking off his hat into, well, something more profound. She didn’t know how otherwise to explain it. Ismaida was right about one thing: all that was missing were knightly plumes.

María Pérez stared in astonishment as she watched her daughter lightly trip down the stairs, dressed in a long pink dress with black shoes, a flowered shawl, and humming to herself. She could only think of one man who might have prompted that behavior and he was a man who left even her husband perplexed.

After the front door closed and Margarita’s shadow passed over the grated windows of the outer wall, María put her fingers up to her chin and thought. She and her husband much preferred the baby-faced Salvador Muñoz, the son of a rich merchant, to a pockmarked army officer. It was apparent to her, though, that this officer’s genuine interest in and knowledge of music had much in his favor as far as Margarita was concerned, for Salvador knew little about music. On the other hand, Salvador was a local boy, a known quantity, while this officer was probably just temporarily at the cuartel. María knew her husband was determined to begin applying the pressure again and she was afraid it might be unpleasant for her daughter, like it had been before. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She just hoped everything would turn out well for Margarita. She went upstairs to see if she could find any more music sheets in her daughter’s room. Sebastian had given her orders to take all music sheets and lock them away in his desk. It was phase one of his plan to force his daughter’s hand into marriage.

******************

"Hey, you. Yes, I mean you."

Corporal Reyes stopped sweeping with his broom and looked over at the jail where the imprisoned Enríquez was housed. The prisoner had been harassing almost everyone in the cuartel that morning and it looked like Reyes was going to be no exception to the rule. Reyes did not want to be bothered. Normally, a private would be assigned to sweep the yard and porch of the comandante’s office, but Reyes wanted to tend to the officer’s quarters himself. He watered the plants, swept the porch on the outside and had already cleaned the office and officer’s quarters. It was a matter of pride. Not everyone could say that he served a Spanish prince. He continued to sweep.

"Hey, you, Corporal. Yes, I mean you. Come on over here."

If he went over, maybe it would stop the chatter. Reyes picked up his broom and the bucket of fresh water and went over to the jail.

"What do you want, Señor Enríquez?" he asked.

Enríquez smirked. "If you told me your name, I wouldn’t have to say ‘hey, you.’

"I’m Reyes," the corporal replied. "What do you want?"

"Corporal Reyes, yes, Corporal Reyes" the prisoner repeated. He gestured the soldier closer. "Come here, closer."

Reyes reluctantly approached the bars. Enríquez was looking very sly. "Sí?" he asked.

"You want to know something, Corporal?" asked the prisoner confidentially.

"Sí," answered Reyes.

"You are working for a Frenchman, Corporal Reyes, a damned Frenchman. He’s an imposter. He’s masquerading as a Spaniard. But he’s a fraud. And all you do is walk behind him like a puppy dog. Look at you \- washing his floor, sweeping his porch, polishing his boots, and doing his laundry. You’re a fool, Corporal, a fool!"

Reyes looked positively indignant. "You are crazy, Señor Enríquez. Our comandante is not a Frenchman! He is not even a typical officer of the Crown!"

"So what is he, then, besides a Frenchman?" the man gloated.

"Our comandante is a prince, a real Spanish prince!" Reyes retorted.

"He’s a Frenchman, a Frenchman," sang out the prisoner. Enríquez opened his mouth to add more insults when he found himself drenched with water. He sputtered in surprise as the corporal walked away from his cell with an empty bucket of water and his broom. "Sergeant García!" he howled as he saw the big man enter the cuartel.

García went over to the cell. "What is the matter now, Señor Enríquez?"

"Did you see what Corporal Reyes did to me?" complained Enríquez.

"Did? Did what?" asked the sergeant in a bland tone of voice. "What did Corporal Reyes do?"

"I’m drenched," shouted Enríquez. "Or are you blind as well as deaf?"

"Everything looks fine to me," García commented. "Just the way it should be." He walked away from the cell while Enríquez continued to fume. When he got up to the comandante’s office he watched Reyes finish sweeping. Reyes turned toward him. "You know, Corporal," the sergeant told him. "I don’t understand what the prisoner is complaining about. You have been very good to him. As a matter of fact, you only give him what he deserves. Hee hee hee."

Reyes grinned. "Thanks, Sergeant."

*********************

She passed several people on their way out of the chapel. She wanted to peek in first to see if the captain was there, then she would go around to the side door to the padre’s office. The church was dark and cool inside. After genuflection, her eyes went to where she had seen him yesterday. He was not over there. She looked over to the left and spotted him on the kneeling board. Margarita smiled to herself and headed over to the wall. She could slip into the pew quickly and quietly.

His hands covered his face and his breathing looked regular. _Sleeping again_ , she thought. _I wonder why he sleeps in church_. She leaned very close to him and whispered, "Wake up, Capitán!"

De las Fuentes was halfway through his prayer when he heard her playfully uttered comment. He smiled to himself, uncovered his face with his hands, crossed himself and turned towards her. He could see that she was not expecting him to be awake at all and that she was blushing once again. He pushed himself back onto the bench, leaned very close to her, and whispered, "I wasn’t sleeping this time, Señorita, only praying that you will have a successful session with Padre Felipe this morning."

She pursed her lips and knew he was somehow teasing her. "I’ll need your prayers," she whispered back. "The only reason I am here is because my parents insist on it. I really dread this."

He took one of her gloved hands into his. "Why do you dread this, dear?"

"My parents want me to marry someone I don’t love and they think that they can enlist the help of Padre Felipe to pressure me," she explained. "I think that is wrong."

"I’ve known Padre Felipe a long time," he told her. "I think that he will be open and fair to you if you tell him what is really in your heart."

"I will," she replied, "for a change. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong all along."

He patted her hand affectionately. He then looked her over and gave her a nod of appreciation. "You are dressed very elegantly today, Señorita Margarita. Pink is a happy color and it suits you so well."

She looked down at his hand and smiled shyly. "Thank you. You say the nicest things. I am happy today. I think that it is somehow related to your visit last night," she admitted. She looked up at him again gauging the pleasant smile on his face and the slightly raised eyebrows at her compliment. "Would it be too much trouble to ask you to wait here a few minutes? I hope this won’t take too long and I’d like a word with you afterwards."

"I am honored," he responded. "And hopefully I won’t have to take this matter of yours to a Higher Authority." There was a twinkle in his eye.

"Somehow I have the feeling that if you have to, such an Authority would respond very favorably," she teased back. She was reluctant to leave but time was moving on. "I had better go now."

He rose as she did and watched her head out of the church. She gave him a little wave at the door and he bowed in response. Only when she disappeared from his sight did he turn back around and resume his position on the kneeling board.

*********************

Tomás Robello was furious at the turn of events. Here he was, behind bars for longer than he had planned and that fool, Angel, was the one freed. He cursed his bad luck. He had the feeling that something wasn’t going right when the comandante asked to speak to Ledesma and not to him.

It was earlier that morning when Capitán de las Fuentes had asked Sergeant García for his opinion of the two vaqueros. The officer learned that Ledesma was constantly paying off Robello’s debts and that he rarely got paid back, if at all. The innkeeper confirmed the fact after acknowledging that, yes, all the bills got paid, but that he wasn’t too concerned _how_ they got paid. Well, yes, Ledesma paid up for everything and did not get into debt himself, but what did it matter, comandante, as long as everyone was happy?

"How do you account for that?" the captain had asked.

"Señor Angel has a good heart," explained the innkeeper, "but he’s not too bright, if you know what I mean."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes and decided to have a talk with Ledesma before he considered releasing either one.

And so it was that Angel Ledesma stood, hat in hand, before the comandante who sat at his desk and listened to his proposal about exchanging jail time for the debt owed. Angel wanted to give credit where credit was due and did not hesitate to name Tomás when the captain asked him who was the author of such an ingenuous idea.

"Tell me this, Señor. If I were to implement such a plan, what would happen if one of the partners did not turn out to be so honest?’ asked De las Fuentes.

Angel thought a moment. "I’m not sure that I understand," he responded uncertainly.

"Let me give you an example. What if two men got in trouble with the law. One of the men, let’s call him Jesús, always paid his debts. The other man, let’s call him Judas, never did. But Judas always convinced Jesús to pay his debts for him. Ah, it’s true Judas would sometimes buy him a melon to show his generosity, but he never really paid Jesús back at all. Now when they got in trouble with the law, both men went to jail. Judas did not like being in jail, but nobody does. He had no money and could not hope to get out by himself. He convinced Jesús that he should go free and that Jesús should stay in jail, just to keep the straw warm and to stay out of trouble. Judas promised he would work hard and pay off all his debts and help free Jesús. The problem was that Judas never worked hard, never kept his promises and was incapable of paying off his debts without the help of Jesús. So, who do you think stayed in jail for years? Maybe for the rest of his life?"

"Jesús," answered Angel simply.

"You are right," responded De las Fuentes. "Now, what if Jesús had been freed from jail instead of Judas? Jesús would have worked hard to pay off his debts. Then he would have helped out Judas, even though Judas did not deserve it. But something good happened to Judas, even though he stayed in jail. Judas learned a new trade while in jail. His jailer helped him learn how to whitewash walls, to sweep the grounds clean every week, to repair bridles and saddles, and even to enjoy the food of his jailers. Sad to say, there is no free wine in jail, but going so long without wine helped cure Judas of drinking too much. He became more honest with some new job skills. So, who do you think would benefit more from staying in jail - Jesús or Judas?"

"Well, I think that Judas would really benefit more than Jesús," replied Angel. "Judas could even learn a new trade. Maybe when he got out he would be more honest."

"I agree with you," replied the comandante. "You have an excellent idea. The problem is solved and you helped to solve it."

Ledesma beamed at that. Not too many people gave him such a nice compliment and this comandante seemed like a fine man.

"Now, here is how we’ll solve the problem," the officer told him. "I will let Jesús, I mean Angel Ledesma, out of jail. That way, he can start to work right away. I will leave Judas, I mean Tomás Robello, in jail. After all, he has no money to pay his fines."

"Oh, sí, Señor Comandante, you are right," responded Angel. "I even have five pesos I can pay you with now. I have some more money at home. I will get some extra work so I can pay you off as soon as possible. I am very grateful, Comandante." He reached in his jacket and pulled out several coins and found others in various pockets. He looked pleased.

"By the way, you said that Señor Robello claims that you owe forty-two pesos," the comandante remarked while putting the coins in a metal box. "That is not true. You only owe thirty-four. It is he who owes forty-nine, plus five to you. That makes fifty-four pesos."

"Oh," replied Angel. Then he asked timidly, "Would it be possible to subtract a few pesos because I was beaten by the soldiers the day before yesterday? After they beat me, Capitán Monastario had them whip me, too."

"Ah, you did resist arrest, which is why you were beaten," De las Fuentes pointed out, "but perhaps we can reduce your fine to twenty-five pesos to compensate you for having been whipped."

"Oh, thank you so much, Comandante!" Angel exulted. "I won’t resist arrest again, I swear. I will also pray for you."

"Tell me, Señor Ledesma. How is it that you always have plenty of coins and Señor Robello has none? Yet both of you are vaqueros," asked De las Fuentes.

"My wife makes me save money, Señor Comandante," answered Ledesma. "I help people and they always throw me coins even though they don’t need to. Sometimes I sit around and talk with Tomás or Jaime or Marcos. While we are talking, I carve toys or repair bridles. I get work done even when I am not working. Tomás does not have a wife and he drinks more than me. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have any money."

"That is as good an explanation as any," the officer mused. "Perhaps Señor Robello needs a good wife."

"Everyone does, Señor Comandante," confided Angel. "There is a special lady for everyone, even here in Los Angeles." He observed the officer’s ringless fingers. "Perhaps as well for the Señor Comandante?" He smiled.

"Perhaps there is," De las Fuentes replied mildly. He was not expecting such a personal comment from a simple vaquero. "One can never tell what kind of designs God has in store for us."

********************************

She knocked at the wooden door and Padre Felipe opened it from inside. His smile was mild and friendly. "Good morning, Padre," she greeted him.

"Good morning, Señorita. My, you are all dressed up today," he observed. "And what a lovely shawl." He gestured towards a chair. "Please have a seat."

She sat down in a leisurely way and gave him her friendliest smile. The padre wondered what was going on. "Tell me, Margarita, what is the special occasion? When you come to see me you usually wear black."

"Oh, today seems like a very nice day," she replied casually.

Felipe got to the point. "You know, of course, Margarita, that your parents wanted me to speak to you about Salvador’s proposal of marriage. They would like you to reconsider. It may be a good idea for you to obey your parents. They are, after all, looking out for your best interests and, sometimes, parents do know best for their child."

"Father, I understand why you want me to obey my parents on matters of importance, but would you want me to marry someone I didn’t love just to make my parents happy?" she asked.

"Of course, I would not want you to feel pressed to marry someone you do not love," he began.

"Would you really want me to marry Salvador when I am in love with another man?" she continued in a challenging tone. "How could I possibly want to marry him, when another has taken away my heart?" She smiled as if at a secret.

"I had no idea there had been such a development," Felipe responded in great surprise. _So that is why her feathers are so gay_ , he thought. "Your parents did not mention that you had another suitor."

"He’s a wonderful man," Margarita told the priest. "I have never met anyone quite like him. We have so much in common." She looked down at her hands. "He’s very special." She paused, then looked up at him and repeated sincerely, "He’s very special."

Felipe smiled benevolently at her. "Then I’m very happy for you, my child." Now the priest became curious. He leaned over confidentially. "Can you tell me who he is?"

"I would really like to tell you now, but I want to wait a spell," she told him. When she saw a look of doubt cross his face, she added, "This man is the finest man I have ever met. There is really no one like him in the entire world. I don’t think that I want anybody but him." She paused again. "Sometimes we have to wait a very long time, but this man is worth all the years I have waited."

"Does he feel the same way about you, Margarita?" Felipe asked gently.

For the first time, Margarita looked uncertain. "I’m not sure," she admitted. "I’ve got to talk to him about it." Her voice trailed off. She really did not know how to do this. Custom dictated that the man approach the lady. It would be unusual, very unusual, any other way. _Oh, my_ , she thought.

"Margarita, I will advise you this: Only you know your own heart, no one else does. Let this man know your heart as you get to know his." Felipe stood up. "My prayers are with you, my child. If you believe this man is for you and your hearts are one, let no one else come between you."

She nodded and stood up to leave. For the first time, Margarita thought that Felipe was much wiser than she ever gave him credit for. As they stood at the door, Margarita suddenly turned to him again. "If I can’t have him, Padre" she told the priest intensely, "then I don’t want anyone else."

Felipe looked surprised, but nodded. He watched her walk away _. Now I wonder who he could be_ , he mused, _to arouse such passion and determination in Margarita_. Felipe planned a special prayer for Margarita in view of this latest development. She seemed so full of hope. It would have to be a special prayer, he thought, because the past ones did not seem to have worked. But, perhaps they did not for a very special reason. Felipe smiled and closed the door  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 8](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante8.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	8. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Eight**

Don Diego de la Vega rode his palomino towards the pueblo of Los Angeles accompanied by his manservant, Bernardo. The cool fogs rolled off the brown hills as the sun rose higher in the sky. The rains had only just begun earlier that month and there was a slight green tinge to the meadows and among the many outcrops that dotted the terrain. Small herds of a dozen or so deer could be seen grazing on the slopes and every once in a while a small brown hare darted across the road just ahead of the cantering horses.

Sergeant Demetrio García was standing at the gates of the cuartel enjoying the warmth of the mid-morning sun when Diego and Bernardo rode up and dismounted from their horses.

"Good morning, Sergeant," Diego greeted the corpulent man. "How are you today?"

"Good day, Don Diego," García answered, "I am doing very well. Today is a fine day." He nodded at Bernardo who waved his fingers in greeting.

"Why is today such a fine day?" Diego asked out of curiosity. "Is there something special about today?"

"Well, Don Diego, today is a good day because I am happy. I am happy because ever since Capitán de las Fuentes arrived, all the days have been good ones."

"That’s wonderful news, Sergeant. Speaking of our capitán – is he in?" asked the young don. "Could I have a word with him?"

"Capitán de las Fuentes is not here at the moment," García told him. "He has gone to the church. He goes there almost every day. After a little while, he comes back. Do you want to wait for him in his office?"

"No, that’s all right, Sergeant," responded Diego. "I think I’ll go over to the church and wait for him there. I’ll see you later." He tapped Bernardo on the shoulder and the mozo left with him.

"Hasta luego, Don Diego. Hasta luego, Little One" García replied. He turned back, closed his eyes and smiled. A few more minutes to enjoy the sun and he then would begin his walk around the plaza before the capitán returned.

Diego leisurely crossed the plaza to the church. Leaving his servant waiting outside, he entered the dark interior. He dipped two fingers in the holy water, knelt and crossed himself as he looked up at the altar. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The first thing he saw was Margarita Pérez sitting next to Capitán de las Fuentes over on the far left They had their heads together as if in quiet conversation. Diego observed them carefully and then raised his eyebrows in surprise. _What a transformation_ he thought, as his eyes traveled over her long pink dress, embroidered black shawl, and gold jewelry. _I don’t think she’s dressed like that in years_ , he thought. Something must be going on. He decided to sit in the back and observe his old friend, Margarita.

After a few moments Margarita and the officer stood up and walked quietly out of the church together. Margarita passed by and didn’t even notice the young man who sat a few feet away. Diego rose a few moments later and saw that they were walking just outside the walled garden of the church. He motioned for Bernardo to stay at the church entrance and not to follow him. Margarita had her arm through the captain’s. When they reached the gate, the capitán opened it and both of them went inside. Diego followed discreetly and looked through the barred opening of the wooden gates. Inside he saw the two of them sit down on one of the benches under a great oak tree. Diego smiled. Margarita looked so happy and he was glad for her.

************

The churchyard was such a pleasant place, even late in the season. There was the odor of rosemary and the last of the calendulas were in blossom with their orange heads in full bloom in the late morning sun. The protective walls of the church kept the roses in bloom until the very end of the year. Chrysanthemums of various colors spouted from pots and grew in profusion. Yellow and orange poppies with their blue-green foliage gave the churchyard a cheerful appearance throughout the dreariest months of the rainy season.

"And how was your session with Padre Felipe?" he asked her, sitting at her side.

"Much better than I thought it would be. You were right about Padre Felipe," she admitted. "He has more wisdom than I gave him credit for. I feel much better now, thanks to your advice."

"Ah, it was nothing," he smiled. "Just as long as everything is better for you." He paused. "I hope you don’t mind my bringing you here. It is very peaceful and the padre seems to have quite a talent for horticulture."

"Not at all," she assured him. "I come here quite often with my friends. We sit on this very bench." She smiled self-consciously and momentarily lowered her eyes. She felt his gaze upon her and looked up into his light blue eyes, which seemed in perpetual good humor whenever she was with him. His pleasant personality emboldened her to make a new inquiry. "May I ask you something personal?" she ventured uncertainly.

"You may ask me anything," he responded as if it was perfectly natural that she should ask him a question and he would not think twice about it.

"Well," she began hesitantly. "Would you mind if…? I hope you won’t think it forward of me, but…. What is your first name?"

It was another pleasant surprise for him. "I call myself ‘Francisco,’" he told her. And it was true. He had called himself that for two years.

She thought his response sounded a little mysterious but at least she now knew. "Francisco de las Fuentes," she repeated. "Would it be appropriate if I called you ‘Don Francisco’? Always calling you ‘Capitán de las Fuentes’ seems much too formal."

He had been called better and he had been called worse. "I am honored, Señorita Margarita, by your request. Everyone calls me ‘Capitán’ and it is pleasant to be less formal."

She felt encouraged. "You know, Don Francisco, I would really look forward to another visit from you. I want to hear about all the places you’ve traveled to and the wonderful things you have seen and done. The stories you tell are exciting and fascinating. Even though I’ve traveled a little here in California, my life seems so dull and boring compared to what you have done."

"I will make a bargain with you, Señorita. I will talk to you of my travels only if you will play more on your piano. I would consider it a very fair exchange. Do you agree?"

"Your proposal is more than acceptable," she gushed. "I’d like that very much." She covered her mouth with her hand and blushed at her own excitement.

Francisco enjoyed her spontaneity and lack of pretentiousness. There was a genuine look of pleasure in his eyes as he took her hands in his. "Margarita," he began in a very personable way, "I want you to know that I consider your playing exceptional. I mean this most sincerely."

Margarita blushed again. "Thank you." She felt very flattered. It was the kind of praise she had always sought but never received from her own family. "Could you perhaps call on me later today or this evening? Would that be too soon?" she ventured.

"I would take great pleasure in seeing you later today. I am only sorry I cannot say exactly when I will call upon you. It may be impromptu," he told her.

"Anytime you want to come will be fine," she responded. "I haven’t forgotten that you have your duties as well." There was a pause and then she said shyly, "I guess I should go now." Everything was going well and she wanted to leave at the right moment.

He stood up and escorted her to the garden door and, of course, kissed her hand.

"Goodbye. Until later," she said and gave a little skip like her friend Juanita was apt to do.

"Before Apollo’s chariot makes its final pass," he promised.

She was fifteen or twenty feet away when she looked back over her shoulder at him and gave him a little wave. He waved back and bowed again.

*****************

Francisco de las Fuentes went back inside the churchyard to retrieve his hat and made a discovery. It was there, on the bench next to his hat, that he found her kerchief. It was pink with her initials sewn on it. He smiled as he picked it up. It had the scent of rosemary. What better assurance than to leave behind something she knew he would have to return to her. The last woman to pull that ploy was a curvaceous lady in Lima who had taken quite a fancy to him. He had returned the ornately decorated embroidery to her gallantly and with great ceremony. It turned out she was married, but that had not stopped her from making some very suggestive remarks to him. Her stout husband had also thanked him for returning her kerchief. She was constantly losing it, the man observed. Of course, the captain was in no way comparing Margarita to the other. If anything, he considered Margarita a genuine and original woman whom he found himself increasingly interested in. It was apparent to him that she was delighted by his sincerity and appreciation of music.

De las Fuentes tucked Margarita’s kerchief in his sash and walked out the door of the churchyard. He saw Don Diego de la Vega strolling quite close by on the dirt road. He waited for the young man to catch up to him and gave him a jaunty salute.

"Good morning, Comandante," Diego greeted him. "This seems like a very happy day. Have you been enjoying Padre Felipe’s garden?"

"Good day, Don Diego," responded Francisco. "I find the churchyard a pleasant place to visit. Padre Felipe tends a remarkable panoply of botanicals and florets. I trust your father is well?"

"Yes, he is," replied Diego. "I am very happy to see you, Capitán, because my father asked me to see you and convey his greetings. He hopes that you will be able to join us for dinner this evening."

"I do have a late evening engagement. If you would not find this an imposition upon your hospitality, then you may tell Don Alejandro that I accept with gratitude," the officer smiled. "His invitation honors me."

"You will still have several hours with us, Capitán. Your presence will do us the honor." Diego bowed slightly from the waist.

"And what time suits your father for my visit?" De las Fuentes inquired.

"The days are short and it grows dark early - perhaps before dusk? The main road south leads directly to our hacienda. Make a turn to the left at the first fork in the road and travel a league. It will be the first habitation you come to. You will know it by the torch lights at the gate."

"That is fine. I look forward to seeing your family this evening. Adieu, until then," De las Fuentes bowed. He began to head back toward the cuartel, when he heard Diego’s voice.

"Oh, Capitán de las Fuentes?"

Francisco turned back with a look of inquiry on his face. "Yes, Don Diego?"

Diego smiled. "You know, Comandante, Señorita Pérez is well known for her musical talent among her friends."

The officer responded with remarkable aplomb. "Ah," he acknowledged. "I will gladly attest to the fact that her reputation is, without doubt, well deserved." He bowed again and turned back toward the cuartel thinking how in small towns people notice every little thing. He saw Sergeant García waiting, as ordered, with two saddled horses. It would be his first adventure outside the pueblo since his arrival.

Diego de la Vega watched the small man depart and thought that for a fellow who had not been in town for very long, there was much the comandante had accomplished. At the hearings conducted on the first day, he had managed to win the support of a considerable number of townspeople for the manner in which he conducted himself and how he treated those under arrest. Diego and Bernardo had remained at the tavern a long time after the hearings ended and overheard the customers’ comments. In the general store, the comandante’s name was on the lips of many people. Even the soldiers of the cuartel seemed pleased with their commanding officer and were quick to defend him if anyone made the slightest remark that could be construed as unfavorable. A man like that, Diego thought with a smile, could put Zorro out of a job – not that he would mind.

But what manner of man was Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes beyond this? Diego understood that Padre Felipe and the officer already knew each other. Alejandro had asked his son to do some research and Diego would begin with the good padre. The young don headed back toward the plaza and to the door that led to Padre Felipe’s office.

***************

The captain rode at a good pace and Sergeant García was beginning to wish that the comandante had chosen another soldier to go with him. It was not just the fast gait along the El Camino Real, but up hills and down, along arroyos and through valleys. García knew the area well, but the rough terrain was beginning to take its toll on him. His body ached all over as they traversed the uneven hills and vales.

Finally, the captain called a halt at the top of a steep hill that overlooked the valley below and sat contemplating the view. The forested mountains high above the pueblo of Los Angles to the north seemed to be part of an unending series of folds that faded into the distance in a purple-blue hue. The first storms of the rainy season had begun and there was a green tinge to hills and meadows where the tall grasses and brush dominated the scene with their dried browns and yellows. To the east, vast plains opened and were intersected by hills and even more valleys. The immensity of the land was matched only by its emptiness, thought De las Fuentes. But it really wasn’t empty, just empty of people. Small lizards of all sizes darted across the trails or around rocks. Brown-gray hares with enormous, pointed ears dashed away at their approach. The chatter of birds filled the wooded hillside and the abundance of wildlife was astonishing. From a distance he had seen herds of deer, several coyotes, squirrels, flocks of wild ducks, and even more awe-inspiring – and dangerous – a mountain lion.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sergeant who pointed to the distant pueblo. "You can see the roads that lead into the pueblo of Los Angeles from here, Comandante. The widest one is the El Camino Real. It travels south to north. Then there are the smaller roadways that lead to the haciendas or to other places."

De las Fuentes nodded. He pointed to the west. "And the Pacific Ocean, there."

The sergeant followed the line of his arm. "It looks very big."

The captain smiled. "Look further. Do you not see how the ocean and sky meet and how it forms a great curve?" He gestured with his arm and gloved hand stretched out.

García squinted and looked hard. "Sí, Capitán. It is a great curve."

"When you see this curve as you look toward the ocean, and then all around us, it becomes hard to conceive that once upon a time most people really believed that the Earth was flat," De las Fuentes remarked. "Yet, without this perspective, there are actually people who still believe that if you sail far enough, you will fall off of the edge of the world."

García was quiet a moment. "What happens if you do sail far enough, Comandante?"

The officer eased himself in the saddle and considered the question. "The ocean leads to more islands and to more lands where there are cannibals," he explained. The distances are vast as Magellan found out. If you travel to the northwest you will find the mysterious oriental land of China where, it is said, that dragons dwell. If you travel west, you come upon more islands and perhaps even India. Eventually you will reach the lands of the Turks and then, the far shores of northeast Africa, dry and barren. If you were to travel to the southwest, you would reach a great land mass called Australia, like a huge island in the middle of the ocean. From Australia, traveling further west, you would reach southern Africa, a land where there are headhunters and men the size of dogs. Strange animals traverse the jungles, plains and mountains. Their roars can be heard for leagues. Once there, you could travel northwards up the west coast of Africa to Spain. If you were to continue traveling toward the setting sun, though, you would come to Brazil."

"I think I would rather stay here in California, Capitán. Traveling for such a long time on the ocean would make me too seasick," García told him.

"How did you make it to the Américas, Sergeant?"

"I did not think I would make it, Comandante. I was sick from the moment I left until the day I arrived," García replied. "The only time I was not sick was when I was drinking wine. Then, it did not matter."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. "And if you were to take a keg of wine with you, would you sail upon the ocean as Magellan did just to see the wonders of the world?"

"Well, I do not think so, Capitán. It is much safer to stay here. I do not think I would like to meet any cannibals or headhunters," he said. "They might want to eat me!" He patted his fat stomach and continued. "I heard that there are even men with two heads in such places. Each head talks as if it were a different man."

"I would like to see that," the officer commented thoughtfully. "As of now, I do not see how it would be anatomically possible, yet there are many things in the world we do not understand. When I visited the Royal Zoo in the city of Vienna, I saw an animal that defied all reason. Its neck was as long as its body. It was a yellow color and had square brown patches all over its body. Its face was much like a horse and it ate leaves from trees. It had been brought from Africa only a few years before. No one in all Vienna had ever seen anything like it. It is called a giraffe." He paused. "I did not think that I would see such a creature as the mountain lion you pointed out today. It seemed like such a magnificent animal, different from the lions in the lands of the Moors and Berbers. It looked more like a lioness."

"It is very dangerous, Comandante," García stressed. "There are also many grizzly bears here in California. They are very dangerous."

De las Fuentes pulled up the slack reins and turned the horse’s head easily toward the path they had come up. "We’ll return to the cuartel. I have many engagements this afternoon and evening."

After they reached the main road, García found the pace on horseback was just as fast going back to the cuartel. "Oh, Capitán," he panted, catching up to the officer. "Will you be visiting with the Señorita Pérez very long this afternoon?"

De las Fuentes slowed his mount and looked surprised. "How did you ascertain that, Sergeant?" he asked.

García smiled. "Well, Capitán, I saw you walking with the Señorita away from the church this morning. Later, when she came out of the churchyard, she waved at you."

"That is true. But what makes you think that I will visit her this afternoon?"

"Comandante, Señorita Pérez has worn black for years. Now she wears pink. Her father has tried to force her to marry for many years. She turns all the men away. I have never seen her wave at a man before, but she waved at you. Besides, Capitán, she gave you her kerchief." García pointed to the officer’s sash where part of the kerchief had worked its way up.

"Ah," remarked De las Fuentes glancing down and seeing the evidence himself. "You are quite observant, Sergeant. I do have a dinner engagement with Don Alejandro de la Vega and his family. Señorita Pérez seems to have lost her kerchief and I am going to return it to her today." He paused noting the sergeant’s amused expression, but he was not offended. In fact, it pleased him. All Spaniards were romantics, he thought, and he wasn’t fooling the sergeant one bit. "I also want to speak to Señor Enríquez. He is a troubled man and I fear he will only run afoul of the authorities again. He needs to understand the grave danger he puts himself in with less tolerant men."

García shook his head. "I fear when you leave, Comandante, Capitán Monastario will hang him."

"Why don’t you tell me something about Capitán Monastario, Sergeant. It seems his command is not too popular with the people of the pueblo."

The fat sergeant sighed deeply. "I hope you will forgive me, please, for telling you some things that have happened here that are not too good. It is just that, well, it is the way that it is." With that, García began to pour out the woes of the soldiers and the townspeople. He only stopped talking when they reached the gates of the cuartel.

*********************

Diego de la Vega, sat with his legs crossed in a leisurely manner and listened to Padre Felipe talk about many things that had happened in Spain before, during, and after the war against the French. He spoke of the tragedy of the monarchy and of Spain’s misfortune. For once, Diego thought that the good padre was trying to convey a sense of events rather than directly answer his questions about Capitán de las Fuentes.

"You know, Padre Felipe, all of this is very interesting," Diego acknowledged. "But I have the sneaking suspicion that you know much more about our good capitán than you are willing to impart. If it is something very personal, then I respect your silence or hesitation to speak of it openly. Just let me know and I will inquire no further. I do not wish to cause offense. It is just that Capitán de las Fuentes arouses much admiration and curiosity in men who see him as principled and honorable. Many of us sense that he is a man who seems far above his station."

"I am sorry, Diego," Felipe responded, sounding somewhat contrite. "I’ve told you about a number of events so you will understand the context. I am under an obligation of discretion. I know you and your father well. There is no family I trust more. But, I think that the whole story must come from Capitán de las Fuentes himself. Let me just say this: if you ask Francisco questions the most direct way, you will get the kind of answers you seek, but you must be persistent to receive a complete answer." The padre seemed pensive a moment. "I just want you to know that he is one of the finest men that Spain has ever produced, yet shortsighted and jealous men have savaged him – unjustly and beyond any reason for the faults he may have committed. I know him as an unusually honest and erudite gentleman of the highest order. He is greatly troubled by a personal loss and the many dishonors visited upon him. At times, he seems almost overwhelmed by great melancholia. Still, he remains committed to all those principles that made him the man he was and still is. I feel deeply for him because of these misfortunes and for his fortitude."

Diego rose from his chair. "You know, Padre, I think that Los Angeles may hold some good fortune for the capitán, if only he will let go of the past."

Felipe nodded and escorted him to the door. "Diego, my son, I have always thought that you have remarkable insight into men’s souls. It is a gift. I told Francisco that there is a great deal of good in California and that it would be a new beginning for him. He needs some encouragement in this regard and anything that you and your father could do to foster this idea would be a real blessing."

Diego agreed. "Let’s see what we can do. Capitán de las Fuentes is coming out to the hacienda for dinner tonight. It will be a good opportunity for him to see that he is among men much like himself."

*****************

Sergeant García watched Corporal Reyes bring out a chair and place it outside one of the cells of the cuartel jail. He shook his head. He was concerned that the prisoner, Enríquez, would begin to insult the capitán again. Surprisingly, the man had said nothing when the capitán returned to his office. García beckoned Reyes over.

"So the capitán is going to speak to the prisoner again, eh, Corporal?" he asked.

"Sí, Sergeant," replied Reyes.

"It looks like he might talk with him a long time. He has a chair to sit in."

"Sí, Sergeant," the corporal replied.

García was hoping Reyes would be a little more conversational about what was going to take place, but the other soldier stood there contemplating who knows what.

The fat sergeant kept on eyeing the corporal but nothing further was forthcoming. Finally, he vented his exasperation in a big sigh. "Corporal, can’t you tell me anything about what is going on with the capitán?"

"What do you want to know, Sergeant? The capitán has many plans," responded Reyes.

"Well, why don’t you just tell me what you know," García replied with his hands on his hips.

"Well, the Capitán received his traveling box today and he was unpacking some things. Then he had some lunch. Then he said he was going to talk to Señor Enríquez."

"Anything else, Corporal?"

Reyes smiled and lowered his voice to a whisper. García leaned closer. "Well, the comandante is going to have a bath afterwards and then he will visit with Señorita Pérez. Tonight, he will dine with Don Alejandro and then…."

"Shhh," García cautioned him suddenly, straightening up. "Here comes the comandante." Together both of the soldiers watched the bearded man walk up to the cell of the prisoner, Enríquez. De las Fuentes had removed his saber and he kept his hands clasped behind his back at first. He took small steps and, then, made small gestures as their conversation became more animated. They could not hear what he was saying but they could see that the prisoner began to pace back and forth and gesticulate. Finally, the officer sat down in the chair and leaned towards the bars as if very interested.

"I wonder what they are talking about," García remarked. "Señor Enríquez is crazy, a madman."

"The capitán says that Señor Enríquez is only a little crazy," Reyes told him. " I think that’s why he wants to talk to him. Maybe he wants to find out why he is a little crazy, not a lot."

"Why don’t we move a little closer, Corporal. But act like we are just talking."

Both men looked around, moved a little closer, shuffled their feet and looked up at the sky and around the cuartel. Anyone watching them would have laughed at their conspicuous efforts to be inconspicuous.

Looking over at the cell a few minutes later, García and Reyes saw the comandante rise out of his chair in alarm. They looked at each other and hurried over. Inside the cell, the prisoner was clutching at his throat, his knees collapsed under him and he fell to the floor of the cell. Then his body began to convulse and his eyes glazed over.

"What is happening, Comandante?" asked García excitedly.

De las Fuentes watched in apprehension and fascination as Enríquez twitched and shook. He crossed himself. "Has God smitten him or is he possessed?" he asked in consternation, directing the question to no one in particular. Then he made a decision. "Unlock the cell door."

García fumbled with the key in the lock, then swung the iron door open wide. "Shall I hold him down? Should we drag him out?" he asked.

"No, leave him. Perhaps the possession will pass," the officer said. "He is not harming anyone as of yet. Get the doctor at once."

Reyes bolted.

De las Fuentes stepped up into the cellblock and knelt down by the prisoner. García edged a little closer. Enríquez’s body still shook, but as the minutes passed, the convulsions lessened and, at last, ended.

Joaquín Enríquez breathed heavily and the sweat poured from his brow. Gradually, his breathing returned to normal. When his eyes came back into focus, he saw the bearded face of the officer kneeling at his side, looking very concerned. He began to focus on the deep baritone. The officer was asking him something.

"Señor Enríquez, can you understand me? Do you hear me?" the captain asked. He laid his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly. "Señor, are you all right?"

Enríquez looked up after a few moments and nodded weakly. "I’ll be all right," he gasped. "It passes. It passes." He closed his eyes a moment. He heard the murmur of voices around him and felt the officer at his side. He heard the officer’s voice say "Doctor Aguilera" and felt the presence of another at his side. He just wanted to sleep. Just for a little while. Several minutes passed and he felt hands grasp his shoulders and legs and lift him up onto the wooden sleeping platform in the cell. A few minutes later someone placed a pillow under his head. He dozed.

"He’ll be all right," the grey-haired and bearded doctor told the comandante. "I have seen such seizures before. The victim usually recovers shortly. But to answer your question: no, I do not believe you had anything to do with it. The seizures can happen at any time and anywhere. No one, not even the victim, knows how and when it will happen. Sometimes the seizures begin at an early age, and other times they do not show up until early adulthood. On occasions, they begin over the age of thirty. It is my judgment that you followed the best procedure – just let the seizure take its course and do not interfere. Many people try to seize control of the arms and legs with the best intentions, but it seems to only make matters worse for both the victim as well as benefactor. Both end up getting hurt. No, I do not think it will reoccur any time soon. It seems to be sporadic. The danger appears that if the victim does not have enough room to thrash about in, then he can get hurt. It was a good idea to open the cell door. The victim cannot control the body contortions, so escape is neither an option nor a possibility."

"I have seen men collapse and die," De las Fuentes commented, "but I have never seen the twitching illness before. Is there no medication or treatment for it?"

"Not to my knowledge, Comandante," responded Dr. Aguilera. "I have calming herbs and the like. It is said that some of the old natives have knowledge of such things and use roots and herbs to treat various illnesses successfully. A curadora lives high up in the hills to the north and many go to visit her. Her name is Señora Montoya. That is about all I can suggest." The doctor stood up to leave. "I’ll come by to check on him tomorrow, but I think he will be fine after a rest. You might want to see that he gets some warm chicken broth and a little red wine."

"It shall be done," the officer replied. "And thank you for coming, Doctor Aguilera. I had no knowledge of this illness or how to proceed."

"It is good to be summoned and to find that the situation has been handled so well, Capitán," the physician commented. "Other men might have reacted badly. You would have made a fine doctor. Until later, Comandante."

García and Reyes listened to the proceedings and watched as the comandante turned back to appraise the prisoner. García leaned close to Reyes and whispered, "You know, Corporal, our comandante is many things. He is a prince, he is a capitán, an officer of the Crown, and he is a doctor as well. I don’t think that there is another comandante like him in all of California." Reyes nodded.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 9](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante9.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	9. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Nine**

Don Sebastian Pérez sat in the parlor of the Muñoz family home and savored the flavor of the wine he had been offered. It was imported all the way from Italy. The Muñozes knew how to live well, he thought, and he approved. Although he had not done too badly for himself, he wanted to forge family alliances that kept money in their respective families and he would not let one recalcitrant daughter upset his plans.

He turned his attention once again to the pudgy young man with pouting lips who sat opposite him and likewise sipped the wine. "She can be difficult," continued Pérez, "but a good thrashing in the beginning of marriage should put her in her place once and for all. I told my wife that her leniency with Margarita has been at the root of all our problems with her. This should have been clear all along. It worked with María and put her in her place. I have not had many problems as a result. But you have to watch women for they are devious beyond belief. That episode with the cats should give you an idea of why such impudence needs to be beaten out of her at the start. I hope I make myself clear."

"There are other ways to make her see reason as well," Salvador commented casually. He was about thirty years of age and wore gray trousers with a long black frock coat and short silver-embroidered vest. He smoked a cheroot and blew out the smoke leisurely. "Women always fear for their comfort. You could also threaten her with disinheritance should she continue to balk. The idea is to narrow her options so she herself comes around to make the choice. That way she could blame no one but herself. I doubt she would choose a nunnery once she is made to understand the situation."

"I have some other plans as well," Sebastian continued. "Getting rid of that piano is one of them. It’s her escape from reality. Those ridiculous friends of hers, especially that Villa girl, are especially unruly. She fancies herself a musician like Margarita does. She’s one of the daughters of that ranchero, Juan Villa, an upstart who got lucky and made money with cattle, probably half of it stolen."

"Villa is good friends with Don Alejandro de la Vega," the young man observed. "Why De la Vega would put up with such riff-raff is beyond me. The De la Vegas are very distinguished in Spain. Don Alejandro should know better."

"If all this were not enough, Margarita has struck up this friendship with this captain who just encourages her. I did not know who he was but apparently Padre Felipe introduced the two of them," Sebastian told him. "Normally the padre is reasonable. When I went to visit him today, he told me that he could not, in good conscience, as he so quaintly put it, force Margarita to marry you. I told him that I thought he was on my side after our little talk. Would you believe that he came up with the lamest excuse I ever heard? He said that he would not stand in the way of Margarita finding love her own way. I have a good mind to cut out our donations to the Church. I’m going to write a letter of complaint about him to the bishop in México. His attitude merely undermines my authority as a father."

"Where is Margarita today?" asked Salvador. "I dropped in but your wife told me that she had left shortly before. She always seems to be out when I come to call and when I do find her at home she acts like she doesn’t want me there. A fine way to treat her perspective husband! Can’t you do something about this? I don’t think my patience can last forever. There are, after all, younger and just as attractive girls in this town, Don Sebastian – and ones without an attitude." There was a hint of a threat in the young man’s words.

"Nobody said that marriage alliances are easy, Salvador," Pérez admonished him, determined to keep the upper hand in their relationship. "María Louisa did not want to marry Napoleon either, but it helped the peace of Europe for a few years. It is true that there are other girls in Los Angeles, but none of them have Sebastian Pérez and his business as a father and asset."

"This is true," Muñoz acknowledged. "I think it would be a good idea to keep up the pressure until she capitulates. She knows that my parents like her very much. What I don’t understand is why she wants to resist me. Maybe this is just a game of hers?"

"A game which has come to an end," asserted Sebastian. "I have an idea. I want you to come over this afternoon at about three. We will corner her. With the help of my wife, this should not take much longer."

"How will you assure she will be there?" asked the other.

"I am sure that she is visiting with her friend, Ismaida Rodriguez. I intend to go there now and to summon her home, or at least find out where she is and bring her back." He stood up to leave, picking up his hat.

Salvador grinned openly. "Can I loan you my bull whip?" he joked, rising up as well.

Both of them laughed and Sebastian wagged a finger at him. "I may take you up on that offer," he said, "just as soon as I’ve worn mine out." With that he left.

*********************

Sergeant García sat in the tavern with Corporal Reyes, Hugo Ríos, and two other soldiers. There was a bottle of wine on the table and the soldiers were listening with wide eyes as the sergeant told them of some amazing discoveries. The innkeeper, Señor Pacheco, walked over to the table to listen better.

"You might not believe this, but the Ocean is full of islands where there are cannibals," the sergeant said, gesturing with his wine mug. "If you go far enough, you will come to China where there are dragons," he asserted.

"How do you know that there are dragons in China?" Señor Pacheco asked doubtfully.

"Yes, Sergeant, how do you know that there are cannibals on the islands?" asked Hugo with the pencil moustache.

García took a swallow of wine. "It is true. Capitán de las Fuentes was telling me this only today. He said that there are lands where there are men the size of dogs and headhunters who will eat you."

The soldiers looked very impressed, looking at each other and nodding. If the comandante had said such things exist, then it must be true.

García enjoyed being the center of attention. He poured himself some more wine. "And not only that. The capitán told me that he himself had seen a wondrous animal, an animal like no other in all the world."

"What animal is that?" asked Reyes.

"It had a strange name. I don’t remember," the big man told them. "Capitán de las Fuentes said that the animal’s neck was longer than its body. He said that it ate leaves out of the tops of trees. He said that the animal was yellow with strange brown patches all over its body."

"That’s ridiculous," commented Señor Pacheco. "Who ever heard of an animal whose neck is longer than its entire body? The comandante was pulling your leg, Sergeant."

"No, he wasn’t," García replied indignantly. "He was very serious. He told me that he had seen it in a zoo in Vienna. He said that the animal was from Africa and that no one had ever seen such a creature. He said that the animal had a face like a horse."

Everyone was quiet a moment. Then Reyes said, "Say, Sergeant, did you tell Señor Pacheco that our comandante is a prince?" He looked up at the innkeeper whose eyes grew wide.

"A prince?" Pacheco asked in amazement. He saw the soldiers nodding as if they all knew this great secret and only he did not.

García smiled. He gestured the innkeeper closer with his finger and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The comandante is much too modest to mention this, but it is true. He is a prince, a real Spanish prince. But don’t tell anyone."

************************

"Why do you sit here? Why do you want to know about me?" Joaquín Enríquez asked the man sitting next to his wooden platform in the cell. "It’s bad enough to have guards on the outside of the cell. Now I have one on the inside as well," he complained.

Francisco de las Fuentes responded with a bit of irony. "Señor Enríquez, your present guard holds a higher rank than the other ones, possibly the highest you will ever have. I only hoped you would be more impressed with your own status." He smiled. "This aside, you made some very interesting statements at the hearing about justice and injustice and I would like to know how it is you are so sensitive to these issues. Is it because of your affliction?"

"I don’t see why you should care," the dark-haired man responded. "I am a stranger, a nobody. No one has cared in the past, why should you bother?"

"It is just quite possible that there are people in the world that do concern themselves with such matters," replied the captain. "It is quite possible that I am one of them."

"And what do you, a Spanish officer, know about such things? I would think that you would support a brother officer like Monastario. Birds of a feather, flock together," Enríquez said flatly. "You belong to the same class. Your kind believe the same thing – guilty until proven guilty."

"I know more about these matters than you might guess, Señor. Could not people from different classes suffer injustice as well? Those who can act need to learn from those who have suffered. Even a single individual can make a difference in the lives of others."

"Name me one here in California, yes, even here in Los Angeles, who has made a difference," demanded the prisoner. "Your lone individual, who is he?"

"From what I hear, even in Los Angeles, a man like El Zorro has made a difference in the lives of those treated unjustly," De las Fuentes responded. He lowered his voice. "I will tell you something that I have not told anyone else. The first night I arrived in Los Angeles, this Zorro called on me. He informed me that there were men who needed justice who were languishing in this very jail. He asked that I act with alacrity. I felt that it was my duty to do so. This is why the hearings were conducted the next day."

The prisoner was quiet a moment. "Perhaps," he commented. "But let us return to the rule rather than the exception. You might care as a man can, but by the time you do, it will no longer matter for it will be too late to make any difference."

"Answer me this, if you will," De las Fuentes persisted. "Is there no one at all in any time in your life - a relative, a priest, a master, or a beggar - who was kind to you?"

"Perhaps, but they were inconsequential," the dark -haired man replied, looking into the distance beyond the high walls of the cuartel. "I found that those closest to me treated me the worst. How can you have faith in justice when those who bore you are the ones who destroyed you?"

That statement gave De las Fuentes some pause, but he was determined to learn what had transpired. Already Enríquez was showing some cracks in his armor and the fact he was talking at all was a victory of sorts.

"The major reason I cannot accept your statements, Señor Enríquez, is that you must, from somewhere and from someone, get your ideas about justice and injustice. Without an understanding of these concepts, you would not be so indignant, so angry, so hard on yourself and on others," the comandante insisted. "And such ideas could not impact the way they do without an intelligence to understand the implications. Such ideas do not occur spontaneously, but manifest themselves through the growth of our consciousness. Very few, if any, people learn consciousness all by themselves. They must have a basis of comparison. We know what justice is when we see it. Likewise, we understand injustice when we experience it or witness it used against others."

Enríquez put his knee up and chewed on a piece of straw. "Why don’t we change the subject, Capitán? Is there something else you want to know?"

"Yes, there is," the officer stated suddenly and with some intensity. "I want to know if you consider yourself possessed by the Devil upon the onset of your twitching illness? Have you ever been cursed by witches or warlocks which may explain what happened to you?"

Joaquín Enríquez stared at De las Fuentes as if the officer had just fallen out of the sky. He stopped chewing the piece of straw and gave the small bearded man a long look of disbelief. He could see that the captain was very earnest and sincere. He did not answer for a long time because he thought that despite the fact that this officer was very insightful and intelligent, he might be more unusual than he himself. He rubbed his stubbled chin and muttered, "I thought you were enlightened, mon Capitán." He shook his head. "Are you serious?"

The comandante looked surprised at his reaction. "Yes, I am Señor Enríquez. There are many things we do not know or understand in this world that can be explained by the interference of witches, demons and spirits into our natural world. They are summoned by those with knowledge of the dark powers. How else do we understand that which is irrational?"

The prisoner began chewing on the other end of the piece of straw. "Hmm," he mused thoughtfully. "Capitán, may I ask _you_ a question?"

"Yes, of course," De las Fuentes responded. "What do you wish to know?"

"Do you consider yourself cursed or possessed in any way?"

"Ah," the officer responded. "It is something that I have pondered for innumerable hours over the last two years. But to answer your question - I have a greater misfortune than you. Whereas a witch‘s curse can be lifted by knowing the proper spells or placating the spirits, there are more serious conditions that one can find oneself under."

"And what are those?" asked the prisoner.

"One can be punished by God Himself," the comandante told him, lowering his voice considerably and crossing himself.

"Why do you think God is punishing you?" Enríquez asked in a very concerned tone of voice. "You are a man who acts reasonably, courteously, and with humility. You have not abused your position of command or the powers placed in your hands. You are a man who has treated a criminal like me with sincerity and a great deal of compassion. How could you ever think that you are being punished? I don’t even think that _I_ am being punished!"

"You flatter me," De las Fuentes responded. "All men sin and somewhere, somehow, I have sinned most grievously, although I do not understand how."

"Listen, Capitán, why do you think you are being punished anymore than I am? Like I told you, there is a real reason behind an illness and it is not a part of any witches, or demons, or spirits or other such nonsense. I don’t believe this for one moment. I thought you were an educated man, a reasonable man. If I, an afflicted man, do not believe that I am cursed, why should you believe that you are?"  
  
"Perhaps because I am more a believer than you, but I will not argue this point or your right to not believe," the small man explained. "If you do not think that you are possessed or even cursed, then how do you explain your illness, something that strikes you from nowhere? Doctor Aguilera told me that an attack, such as what you suffered, comes, like a bolt of lightning, and no one knows from where."

"Comandante," the man on the wooden platform said, "we must be reasonable men. It is true that there are many things that we do not understand. However, I am sure that if you can make a connection between mixing charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter together and how a pistol, rifle, or cannon fires, I am sure you can recognize how unlike substances or events can also be mixed to create other reactions."

"Explain to me what you mean," the officer responded. "One is the natural world. Are we not speaking of the other, the spiritual world?"

"Hear me out. Then I will hear you out," replied Enríquez. "After we have listened to each other’s stories, then tell me if you think there is not a connection between a theory you first postulated yesterday, that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and mine. Once we do this, why don’t we return to your favorite theme of justice and injustice." He smiled and it was an invitation on a level that De las Fuentes could not resist.

"I accept your challenge," the small officer replied. "If you can provide me with a reasonable explanation then I will give it my most serious consideration and response."

"It’s a deal, then," Enríquez declared. "May each of us discover that we may not be the men whom we appear to be, but something much more profound."

********************

"You know, Bernardo," Diego de la Vega remarked as he made his way up the outside stairs of the courtyard to his room that overlooked the patio of the hacienda, "Capitán de las Fuentes made a few remarks to Zorro that I overlooked. Now that I think about them, I believe I am beginning to put together some of the puzzle about whom he might be or at least what he may be."

Bernardo nodded and followed his young master into the room. After he closed the door behind them, he tapped Diego on the sleeve. Diego turned to watch the man explain his ideas with his hands. First a man with a beard and moustache that turned up at the ends – De las Fuentes – and then a man with a big head.

"A big head?" asked Diego as Bernardo shook his head.

The mozo looked around, picked up some books, a quill, a piece of music paper and then pointed to his head.

"Ah, a knowledgeable man?"

Bernardo moved his head up and down vigorously, adding more books to the pile.

"A very knowledgeable man," Diego agreed. "Yes, he certainly is. He has traveled, met the famous and powerful, knows the musicians of many countries, and is an officer, which means he is of a noble family. But this is only part of our puzzle, Bernardo. When our good captain met Zorro, he made some puzzling comments. First, he thought I was an assassin. This must mean that he has powerful enemies."

Bernardo looked astonished at the idea anyone could think that his master would be an assassin. He raised his hands as if holding more.

"There is much more," Diego continued. "The comandante said that he kept on having this recurring nightmare over and over. He seemed almost indifferent to an impending death, saying he wouldn’t keep on having the same dream if he died. It almost seemed as if it would be a relief for him. He also asked Zorro if he were a sorcerer or a warlock. I’ve never been asked that before!"

Diego almost laughed at Bernardo’s reaction. The mozo frowned and tapped a finger against his head. "No, I don’t think he’s crazy," the younger man said. "But here’s another important piece to our puzzle. He referred to the fact that he once told a general that he should cover his flanks when the French were outside of Madrid and that the man had ignored him. The capitán was very indignant that this general had questioned his judgment. Doesn’t this strike you as odd, Bernardo, that a captain, indeed if he is a captain, would be indignant by such a thing? Now only a very vain and pompous lower ranking man would be so arrogant, but we know our capitán as a very modest man. However, if _he_ was a general as well, of course he would be indignant. If he had a higher social standing than the other general, he would be even more indignant. These and other pieces of the puzzle are starting to fit together – oddly and strangely."

Bernardo looked thoughtful, then his eyebrows shot up. He held up a finger to indicate he had an idea. He did a visual description of de las Fuentes, then took a handkerchief to cover up his face.

"Do I think that he is covering up who he really is, or perhaps he is in disguise?"

The mozo nodded vigorously.

"Hmm, I had not thought of that. But, if so, then why? What could this mean?" The young man paused, then smiled. "Anything could be possible." Then he grew more serious. "There is one other thing as well," he told the mozo. "Capitán de las Fuentes often uses the royal ‘we,’ something my father noticed, a habit only those from the most noble families use, families who are even more royal than the family of the king. He said that it was the duty of princes to see that laws were applied justly and obeyed. Our comandante seems to be very interested in seeing that the king’s laws are applied justly. No doubt he has seen and heard much in the southern colonies about injustice under the king and he is acting to show that under our form of government, justice can occur. He seems very tied to duty and might have been referring to himself when he mentioned the duty of princes. If he is in disguise, then is he on some kind of mission?"

Bernardo suddenly held up a finger. He pointed to his shoulders and then made a gesture as if something were being ripped off. Then he used his hands to describe a small man with a beard, and a bandoleer.

"Ah, I see what you mean. Perhaps our captain was somehow demoted or disgraced?" Diego guessed. "Yet he is still loyal to that system on the one hand, and expects the worst from it on the other." He shook his head sadly. "Padre Felipe told me this afternoon that the comandante is one of the best men Spain has ever produced, yet he has been betrayed unjustly. No wonder he thinks he’s been cursed." He walked over to the door. "You know, Bernardo, many of the clues conflict. Let’s see if Father has any ideas about Capitán de las Fuentes. If there was such a case many years ago, then perhaps he can recall it."

********************

María Pérez sat in her room and cried after her husband, Sebastian, left to bring Margarita home. Never before had her heart ached so much for her daughter. María knew that Margarita disliked Salvador Muñoz and would never consent to marry him. She told her husband that in a moment of truth and he reacted badly. He yelled at her and shouted that it was all her fault that Margarita was rebellious and disrespectful. Well, he would teach the both of them a thing or two and they would eventually be grateful for his decision.

María sensed that something was in the air when the young man arrived at the door around noon and insisted on being let in. After responding to the servant’s summons, she had found him seated in the sala, drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair. He rose when she entered the room and asked for Margarita. When told she was out, he acted very irritated, asking her why the young lady was never at home or engaged in domestic pursuits. María replied that there was a time and place for that, but that Margarita had friends and she often went to church. The thin woman felt emboldened enough to tell Muñoz that Margarita was not typical and he should not expect her to be. "She is intelligent and independent," she told him. "She knows own her mind better than I. Do not expect her to be what she is not."

"Señora Pérez," Salvador had responded in a haughty manner, "were it not for the great respect I have for you and your husband, I would not tolerate this kind of behavior. She is very fortunate that a man with the patience I have would consent to marry her."

"And if she does not consent to marry you?" asked the woman.

"She will," he responded with confidence. "Don Sebastian and I believe that, with the right kind of persuasion, she will not only consent, she will be grateful to do so." He smiled and it was not a smile she liked. "Naturally, we expect you to cooperate fully in bringing this unfortunate situation to a happy solution for us." He looked as if he were waiting for a confirmation. When none was forthcoming, a sour expression formed on his face. "Please tell Don Sebastian to call upon me as soon as possible this afternoon. I shall be at home."

"I’ll tell him," she replied, keeping her tone neutral. She did not want to give him any false hopes. As a matter of fact, she was beginning not to like him herself. As the door closed, María Pérez feared that she had been too candid. Perhaps it would have been better had she said nothing at all. Her comments to Muñoz would cost her a slap across the face when Sebastian found out. _Oh, why don’t I have the courage of my own daughter?_ she fretted. Her hands shook thinking that Salvador would strike Margarita the same way Sebastian hit her on occasion. She feared what Margarita might do as well, although her daughter had never shown a violent side. No, Margarita would find a way to get even, like she did with the cats.

There was a slight noise behind her and she turned to see the figure of the lean servant behind her who always answered the door, served the drinks, and helped her in a thousand ways. "Yes, Martín?" she asked through her tears.

"The Señora is very troubled," the elderly man dressed in black stated. He was a Spaniard and had served in good homes in Spain.

"Is it so apparent?" She wrung her hands. "I had hoped so hard, so much, that Margarita would not have to face such an ordeal. I hate what I am being asked to do, but what choice do I have? I had so hoped there would be someone whom she would want to marry, not someone who is being forced upon her."

Martín handed her a fresh kerchief to dry her tears. "I am only a servant," he began modestly, "but I think there is hope. It has already arrived, although perhaps you did not notice."

"Do you mean Capitán de las Fuentes?" she asked. "My husband believes he is already married. I did not notice a wedding band when he was here but I did not look. He has pockmarks and seems very contrary - in my husband’s opinion. Don Sebastian says Capitán de las Fuentes has a ‘Napoleonic attitude’ – quite out of place for his rank of captain."

"Begging your pardon, Doña María," Martín continued in his quiet way, "but what do _you_ think of Capitán de las Fuentes? Do you not think he is much more a gentleman than the young men who have inquired about the señorita, including Señor Muñoz?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, surprised that he would insist on probing her thoughts.

"I have served in many fine homes in Spain," he said. "I want you to know that, although I have only seen him briefly, the comandante is a well-bred gentleman, more than most. In fact, I would say, more than any in Los Angeles."

"How do you know this?" Now she was more than curious.

"A man who has served fine gentlemen recognizes one at once, Señora," he explained. "It becomes an instinct. I also overheard what Señorita Margarita has said about him."

María found she had much to consider. "Do you think, Martín, that Margarita should marry Señor Muñoz?"

"It is not the place for a humble servant to give his opinion on this matter, Señora," he replied. "My only wish is for Señorita Margarita’s happiness. It fills my heart when I see her full of joy and it saddens me when she is miserable."

"Thank you, Martín," María responded. "You have spoken the words that I have kept locked in my own heart. I only wish I had the courage to speak up for her but I am just a coward." The tears returned to her eyes.

"Perhaps the Señora can still help her daughter," the elderly man advised her. "For if you fear to speak up, perhaps your actions can prove what is in your heart instead." With that he bowed and departed the room.

The slender woman stood there trembling a little. She did not want to be a part of forcing Margarita to marry Salvador Muñoz. She did not want to say anything at all. How could she possibly _do_ anything? She raised her kerchief to her eyes to daub the tears that began to flow again.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 10](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante10.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	10. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Ten**

He was running a bit late, but then he had spent much time preparing to look his best. First there was the bath and then the scent had to be proper and his hair, moustache, and beard had to be finely attended to. He wore his standard riding boots and Corporal Reyes had made them look almost new. The scarlet sash took a while to wrap around his waist and his white shirt with the black collar and blue army jacket had to be without a speck of a hair or lint or dirt of any kind. Not a single button was missing or loose. Not a single red thread on the cuffs or collar of his army jacket was frayed or in disorder. He decided to wear a single award on his jacket, mainly because His Majesty, Carlos IV, had presented it to him for services to the Crown.

Corporal Reyes brushed his coat one last time as the officer fastened on his saber and scabbard to his belt and placed his hat on his head before leaving. The corporal had taken it upon himself to become the officer’s valet and De las Fuentes liked the man’s attention to detail as well as his personal devotion. He had told Reyes that such duties were not required of him, but the soldier had insisted in his own quiet way by always being there and doing everything anyway. Reyes never dreamed of being compensated for these extra duties but he did find that when he ordered wine at the inn it did not cost him anything. Señor Pacheco told him not to worry and to be glad that he had such good fortune.

And so it was that Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes arrived at the home of Señor Pérez, opening the outer gate of the patio himself. He entered its bricked walkway and knocked on the heavy oak door.

The door was opened immediately by the elderly servant, Martín, who bowed low to him. He noticed that the servant’s eyes betrayed almost a sense of relief at his arrival. Momentarily he wondered why.

"Good afternoon, Your Excellency," Martín greeted him. "Won’t you please come in?"

"Thank you," De las Fuentes responded and took a step inside. "I trust you are well?"

Before the servant could respond to his courtesy there was a sudden movement from the sala as if from someone moving across the floor in haste. "As well as can be expected, Your Excellency," he replied, taking the officer’s hat.

At that moment, Margarita appeared. It had only taken her a second to respond when she heard the comandante’s voice. She leapt to her feet, rushing past her parents and their unwelcome guest towards the front door. A sense of relief washed over her when she saw his face break into a smile at her appearance. He sensed at once that something was amiss.

He bowed low in a courtly way as if she were a princess and took her hand and kissed it.

"My dear Señorita Margarita," he greeted her. "I am delighted that you are at home," he began.

Her father appeared at once. He was not pleased to see the officer, but the captain bowed to him as well. "Señor."

"Oh, Don Francisco," Margarita said in a rush. "It is so good of you to remember that I promised to play piano for you this afternoon."

"I would not miss your playing even if the English landed," he smiled.

Sebastian Pérez wanted to get rid of the annoying officer. "I’m afraid that Margarita has a visitor and cannot play now," he said shortly.

"Oh, he’s not important," the young woman declared. "I can play right now."

Pérez’s face grew red at her defiance. "I don’t think now is the proper time," he insisted. He turned to the captain. "I think later this evening would be more appropriate for your visit to hear Margarita’s music," he told the officer. He did not see Margarita’s silent entreaty for Francisco to stay. Her body language was as clear as water.

María Pérez was listening from her chair in the sala. She got up and came to the hallway. She greeted the captain with the words, "Capitán de las Fuentes, how nice to see you again."

The Comandante bowed low, took her hand and kissed it. "My dear Señora Pérez, the honor is all mine, for your smile is like a rainbow of spring flowers."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the compliment and found that his original suggestion had been undermined by his wife’s appearance.

"Won’t you come into the sala?" she asked, basking in the warmth of his greeting. "I don’t think you’ve met our guest."

Sebastian was very displeased, but Margarita took the officer by the hand and pulled him into the sala with her. Since the servant had not presented the officer with his hat to leave, it was apparent that other forces were trying to alter Pérez’s wishes.

Her father wanted to regain control of the situation. "Why don’t you introduce Salvador to the Capitán?" he said to Margarita, trying to put her on the spot.

Margarita put her arm through the captain’s as she halted in front of Muñoz who lazily rose from his chair. "Francisco, this is Señor Muñoz," she said. "He is a friend of my father." She smiled sweetly. "Señor Muñoz, this is Capitán de las Fuentes. He is now the Comandante of Los Angeles."

Salvador looked surprised. He bowed politely at the introduction. "How do you do, Capitán," he said. He looked over at Pérez with a raised eyebrow. Pérez indicated it was news to him. "I did not know that you are the new Comandante."

Francisco bowed politely to the younger man. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Señor Muñoz. I have not been here long enough to get to know many of His Majesty’s subjects, with the exception of Señorita Margarita, of course. If such a talented young lady is typical of our pueblo, then Los Angeles is indeed a most fortunate possession of Spain."

"And if she is not typical?" Salvador challenged him.

"Then we are doubly fortunate," De las Fuentes replied solemnly.

"Would you like to have a seat, Capitán?" asked María Pérez who was very pleased by his praise for Margarita. "Perhaps you can stay a little while?" She made sure to look at his hands to see if there was a wedding band. There was none.

"I do have a dinner engagement after a while," Francisco replied as Margarita guided him over to an empty chair next to hers, "and can only stay a short time. However, at your husband’s invitation, I would be pleased to return later this evening. I do look forward to hearing Margarita play more piano and would like to share with her some information I have on the latest musical developments in Europe."

"How exciting," Margarita said with enthusiasm, giving all her attention to the officer sitting next to her. "Francisco has been all over Europe – to Vienna and Berlin, to Salzburg, to Venice, even to Rome and other cities. He has met many composers, attended recitals and been to Court many times."

"I believe that we know all those facts, Margarita," Sebastian said in a flat tone of voice.

"Oh, but your friend, Señor Muñoz, knows nothing about Don Francisco," she replied, "and I’m sure he would want to know."

"Yes, of course," responded Salvador. "I like listening to music."

"What is your specialty, then?" asked the officer looking at the younger man with interest. "Guitar playing seems to be all the rage with young men in the colonies."

"Well, I don’t play myself," Salvador admitted. "I’m wealthy enough to pay others to perform for me. I let the menials make the effort and then reward the ones who play well."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. He recognized all the symptoms of the _nouveau riche,_ but without the culture. "It may interest you to know that His Majesty, Carlos IV, was a fair violin player. He would sit with his small orchestra and practice with them weekly. I remember him saying once that he did not understand why they could not keep up with him. He was most enthusiastic in his endeavors and accelerated the level of playing beyond the written score. Then there was the Emperor Josef II who made it a point to practice piano everyday in Vienna. His niece was much more proficient in music, but he valued the use of the hand as well as the ear. Kaiser Frederick II of Prussia was a most accomplished flutist as well as a writer of poetry and prose. Sadly, most people will probably remember him for his military victories against his German neighbors rather than his cultural accomplishments."

"Really?" asked Salvador. He did not like the implications of stories so casually told for so subtle a reason. "And what instrument do _you_ play, Capitán?"

Everyone’s eyes were on the small, bearded man who sat at Margarita’s side. He glanced at her and saw her eyes full of curiosity and expectation. He returned his gaze to Muñoz whose pouting expression almost made him look petulant. He smiled pleasantly. "Actually, I play a number of instruments, but not all equally well."

Margarita was thrilled. She touched his arm. "Which ones, Francisco?"

"Violin, flute, and a little piano," he replied. "But I have not played in a very long time. I am sure," he said, turning to face her fully and giving her a look of affection, "that I would perform most unfavorably in comparison to you."

"I’m surprised you don’t play guitar, Capitán," commented Salvador, "since it is the most popular instrument in fashion."

"Ah," replied Francisco. "I prefer not to mention instruments that I play poorly. Since there are others who excel in that art form, I tend to devote my attention to those that I have some aptitude for."

Sebastian thought De las Fuentes was lying – or perhaps bragging. "I find it doubtful that someone like you, Capitán, have the time or inclination for such things. After all, you have been engaged in the wars and you have your military responsibilities, such as being Comandante, that occupy your attention. How could you possibly be so accomplished?"

"Señor Pérez," Francisco de las Fuentes responded with great dignity, "I had a good upbringing."

***************

"Now you listen to me, Salvador," said Sebastian Pérez forcefully. "De las Fuentes will return this evening and I want you to be here as well. You need to take a more active role and ease him out of the discussion with Margarita. When she returns, we will continue with our plan."

"This is really becoming most tiresome," Salvador responded. "I think you should begin by sweetening the pot, the dowry, to keep me interested. You talk about shutting out the Comandante while Margarita did everything to shut _me_ out. All she does is call me Señor Muñoz all the time. She calls this captain by his first name and he did nothing to correct her and, I noticed, neither did you or your wife."

"I was not expecting either her or his familiarity," growled Pérez.

"It’s pretty obvious to me that this fellow has really gotten around – and so has she. What is going on between those two?" Salvador insisted. "I told you that I would marry Margarita and I will do so. But it is up to you to deliver the goods and I expect you to. So far, you have failed miserably."

Pérez did not want to get angry with his prospective son-in-law. He walked to the hallway. "Where has she gone to?" he muttered. He called out, "Martín, Martín!"

"Sí, Señor Pérez?" The elderly man hurried from the back kitchen.

"Where did Margarita go?" her father demanded. "Have you seen her?"

"I believe that the Señorita insisted on escorting the Comandante to the outer gate when he left," the servant replied. "I heard her say that she had something to tell him."

"Has she come back in?"

"I do not know, Señor."

"Well, go out and see if she is still on the patio. If she is not, then check her room. She has a habit of going up there and hiding when she wants to avoid me," Pérez said. He turned back toward Muñoz. "There will be another good opportunity for us as well," he continued. "Señor Rodriguez is having a party at his house tomorrow night and we are invited. I will make sure that Margarita is there. You will come as my guest. You will have a chance to meet her friends and make a good impression on them. We can also spread around the word of your engagement in order to create public expectations. This will be another form of pressure on Margarita."

Salvador smirked. "I see your plan, Don Sebastian. You keep on turning the thumb screws and finally the victim collapses. My compliments. You have a fertile mind."

Sebastian Pérez smiled smugly. "It’s a part of being a good businessman, my boy."

****************

Sergeant García nodded contentedly as he watched Capitán de las Fuentes depart on his brown horse for the De la Vega hacienda. The soldier had asked his commanding officer if he wished for an escort, but the Comandante had politely declined. The route, he said, was very direct and he did not think he would meet up with a grizzly bear. García liked his sense of humor. It was very different from that of Capitán Monastario who always seemed to have an unpleasant intent when he made a joke.

Corporal Reyes joined him at the entrance of the cuartel. He had a smile on his face.

García turned to him. "Why do you keep smiling, Corporal? Everywhere you go, you are smiling."

"Well, Sergeant, I’m smiling because I’m happy."

"And why are you happy?"

"Well, I’m happy because every time I go to the inn and buy wine, Señor Pacheco tells me not to worry about paying him. He said I am lucky."

García looked amazed. "Do you mean to tell me that you don’t have to pay for wine?" He was so astonished by the idea that his eyes grew as round as eggs.

"Why, no, Sergeant. I don’t understand it, but if Señor Pacheco doesn’t want me to pay him, well, I can’t force him to take my coins, can I?" He paused. "Say Sergeant?"

"Yes, Corporal Reyes?"

"Why are _you_ smiling?"

"Well, Corporal," García responded hastily and assuming a more serious demeanor, "I want to make sure that there is not some mistake. I don’t want Señor Pacheco to change his mind. I mean, I think this is very important."

"What are you going to do, Sergeant?"

"I think that we need to go to the tavern. I want you to order a bottle of wine for us…I mean, to order a bottle of wine and see if you will get a big bill for not having paid for all the other bottles of wine. Then I can see if you are right or not."

"Right about what, Sergeant?"

García looked annoyed. Sometimes Reyes could be a little slow, he thought. "Right about not having to pay," he answered.

"Oh," the corporal agreed. "When do you want to go?"

"NOW," said the sergeant and pushed Reyes in the direction of the inn. "This could be very serious."

*****************

"The development of the sword and rapier is indeed a fascinating subject, Capitán," remarked Alejandro de la Vega as he, his son, Diego, and the army officer sat cross-legged in comfortable chairs in the hacienda’s library. "The simple cross-hilt has not been entirely abandoned. It remains in use for executions in some countries and solely for ceremonial purposes in others."

"What can you tell us about the development of the rapier, Capitán? I heard that it was not originally developed by the army at all," Diego said putting down his glass of wine.

"Ah, you are right," replied De las Fuentes, twirling his moustache a little. "It was first developed in Spain about three hundred years ago in the theatre as a ‘costume sword’ where the word _rapier_ first derived from the term _espada ropera_. A group of actors wanted to use a lightweight representation of a sword on stage and commissioned a blacksmith to come up with something appropriate. This piece of technology, purely engaged for expediency’s sake, transformed our army. A certain colonel sat in the audience and observed the theatrical swords used. He came back stage and requested to see the swords and to inquire of their make. He was so impressed that he asked to borrow one and took it back to his superiors. All else is history."

"The hilts have been quite different, though," Alejandro observed. "It took almost another century before they changed from pure knuckle-guards to some more serious protection of the hand."

"That is true. We Spaniards continued to use the cup hilt long after the rest of Europe abandoned them. The cup-hilt rapier, the _Bilbo_ , was still being used against the French and it was simply awful in comparison to the improvements. I do have a few old small swords and rapiers from my grandfather with very fine chiseled steel and gilt, inlaid gold and silver work. Another is a gold hilt decorated with the family coats of arms," De las Fuentes added. "You know, I’ve seen some beautiful Italian silver work as well. The English have some magnificent enamel-decorated hilts on their dress small-swords - the workmanship is quite superb,"

"Fortunately in California, we have not had the kind of warfare that lends itself to the creation of such improvements," commented Diego. "While there were uprisings here in the southern part of California against the missions and settlers for many years, it is now mostly a thing of the past."

"I am most interested in hearing some of the history of California from you," said Francisco. "It would seem most appropriate here in the setting of your beautiful library."

Diego looked over at his father and smiled. He knew that Alejandro would be in his element, combining his personal history with that of all of California.

Don Alejandro put his glass of wine down. "You know, Capitán, there is much that can be said, but I fear I could talk to you until dawn about California. Why don’t I just give you a little history to start? Where would you like me to begin?"

Both Alejandro and Diego laughed when the officer smiled and answered, "Genesis is always a good place."

"I’m afraid I cannot start with Genesis," Alejandro responded. "There is not too much that we know of the history of the various Indian tribes that inhabit California or those further to the east or to the north. The history of Spanish California can really start in Spain with José de Gálvez who became _visitador general_ , inspector general, for New Spain - Mexico - under the old king, Carlos III. He understood the dangers to the northern frontiers here in California from the English, Russians, Dutch, and later the Americans. He strengthened the lower peninsula of Baja California and adopted the long-cherished plan of defending the north from Monterey, a natural harbor. I believe he was also involved in purging the missions of the Jesuits here as well."

"When would this be?" asked De las Fuentes. "If I remember correctly, Gálvez had no use for the Jesuits either inside or outside of Spain once they had been expelled in 1767 by His Majesty. As a matter of fact, Gálvez played a rather vital role in New Spain in arresting the Jesuits and shipping them out of the viceroyalty and confiscating their properties. It was done in great secrecy."

"You are right. As a matter of fact, it coincided neatly with the expulsion. Although the Jesuits had been given control of all the missions in New Spain from Cabo San Lucas at the tip of Baja California up to Santa María de los Angeles, they could not create prosperity in so arid a land. With their expulsion, Gálvez had little use for their missions either. Ironically, due to Indian fighting that tied up the troops, Gálvez had to turn, once again, to missionaries for help. This time they were the Franciscans who now head up all the missions in California. They were the driving force behind the establishment of all the missions here in California – from San Diego to San Francisco. But there is much more to the history than the establishment of the missions. There were the great explorations. Gálvez had the good fortune to have two competent and gallant men to lead the expedition to Monterey, Capitán Gaspar de Portolá and the friar Junípero Serra. Portolá had a good thirty years military experience in Spain and was a captain of the dragoons. Although he arrested the Jesuits, he did so with great courtesy. Serra took charge of all the missions. He was a fanatic and a flagellant, controversial in his own time. Portolá dropped anchor in San Diego Bay in April 1769 with Serra in tow."

"The seas run heavy at that time of year, do they not?" De las Fuentes asked. "It must have slowed their progress."

"That was indeed the case. Most of the men on the ship succumbed to scurvy by the time they reached landfall. On the other hand, there were two land expeditions that headed north to meet them. One party was led by Capitán Fernando de Rivera y Moncada with twenty-five men and forty mission Indians. Rivera arrived shortly after Portolá. Rivera expected to find the beginnings of fortifications there but he discovered that only a hospital and graveyard had been established. Despite the toll on their numbers, Portolá headed north, passing close to this area where they experienced several frightening earthquakes. They followed the coast to San Luís Obispo and had to turn inland and then north up over the mountain ranges. They discovered the Salinas River and followed the river valley back to the coast until they arrived in Monterey. They did not recognize the fine sheltered harbor that Vizcaíno had discovered in the early seventeenth century. Too impatient due to lack of supplies and ill men, they decided to rest a few days and continue north. They actually discovered San Francisco Bay by accident."

"While they recognized San Francisco’s significance," added Diego, "no ship sailed into the Bay until 1775. Portolá even got lost, didn’t he, Father?"

Alejandro chuckled, "Yes, he certainly did. Perhaps it was the fogs. Portolá actually thought Monterey had been ‘stopped up’ by sand dunes because he didn’t find it again. Instead, they decided to return to San Diego," he continued. "All they subsisted on was the meat of their pack mules that they butchered daily. When they reached their destination, in January 1770, they found a calamity. The Ipai Indians had attacked the Spanish camp and scurvy continued to plague the men there. There were only twenty left when he returned."

"Did Portolá give up or resume his explorations later?" asked the Comandante.

"He was determined to find Monterey again and did so the following June. There he established a presidio and within, the mission of San Carlos. Monterey became the capital of Alta California soon thereafter," answered Alejandro. "Portolá’s major concern was to establish a base to hold off Russian and English incursions into Alta California but he worried that such a base would be inadequate for such a task. It is four hundred and fifty miles between San Diego and Monterey and both could barely stave off Indian attacks, let alone that of other European powers."

"In the following decade, Spanish explorers from Juan Bautista de Anza to Francisco Garcés and Francisco Atanasio Domínguez opened up land routes in Colorado, Arizona, Nueva México into California," continued the don. "They discovered what was practical as well as what was impractical in their expeditions. Unfortunately, their relations with the Yuma Indians deteriorated so badly that their missions and settlements were attacked. The Yumas spared women and children, but not the men. More savage tribes were encountered such as the Apaches and Comanches who attacked the missions from San Antonio to Santa Fe. Many Spaniards came from these areas and settled in San Francisco Bay in 1776. Shortly thereafter, farming soldiers settled the area in San José in 1777. Other groups arrived to settle at Santa Barbara in 1782 and others near the Mission San Gabriel. It was this latter settlement that led to the founding of Los Angeles in 1781. Los Angeles became the second largest civil settlement in Alta California. And so, here we are, Capitán."

De las Fuentes nodded. "You tell the story well, Don Alejandro, and it is a fascinating adventure of courage and the unexpected." He paused and looked around at the books surrounding him. "I am very impressed with your knowledge and by the immensity of your library which would put many a nobleman’s study to shame. I see that you have an array of books from literature to music; from memoirs to biographies; from the sciences to mathematics; and from the histories of many countries to geography. I consider books sacred. Perhaps you have some from Italy? I myself enjoy architecture, music and the arts. It is heartening to know that there are men of culture and learning even on the far frontiers of Spain."

"Thank you for your kind compliments," Alejandro replied. "You know, Comandante, you seem very well-informed, as a matter of fact, exceptionally so. I hope you will not mind my observation, but you are quite the scholar and a man whose knowledge of the world and culture is remarkable. Are you by any chance related to General Alfonso de las Fuentes y Alarcón? I remember hearing of him as an exceptional scholar on the General Staff and in Court many years ago."

Diego watched the reaction of the small man who sat in the chair opposite them. De las Fuentes shifted slightly in his chair. His expression did not change. He looked Alejandro in the eye and said calmly. "Yes, I am."

When nothing further was forthcoming, Alejandro cleared his throat. "You know, I also remember that Prince Gabriel, the favorite fourth son of His Majesty, Carlos III, was such a scholar as well." He gave the officer a look of askance.

Francisco seemed contemplative a moment. "I was inspired by Prince Gabriel’s accomplishments and wished to emulate him. His Majesty loved him dearly. Many were greatly saddened by his premature death by smallpox."

Diego smiled. "You know, Comandante, the soldiers of the cuartel are very impressed with your leadership. Sergeant García has referred to you as a prince."

The comandante merely nodded his head in affirmation but made no comment.

"Your Excellency," Alejandro began. "No one in all of Los Angeles has ever experienced the kind of justice and compassion from an official of the Crown as they have under your command. I have never heard any officer or official display the kind of knowledge and understanding of the law or one whose capacity for dispensing fair judgments has given such satisfaction to the community under his care." The don looked over at his son and hesitated. "Are you the prince that Sergeant García says you are?"

"Yes, I am," De las Fuentes affirmed.

Diego, remembering what Padre Felipe had told him about the Capitán, pressed a little further. "Your Excellency, are you in fact General de las Fuentes y Alarcón or," he paused, "the General de las Fuentes y Alarcón to whom my father referred?"

The officer’s light blue eyes met Diego’s brown ones and he smiled slightly as if one trumped in a game of cards. He uttered a small sigh of resignation. "I regret to inform you that I was and am the officer you named," he replied.

Alejandro and Diego looked at each other, more in surprise than with a sense of satisfaction, and rose to their feet. "Your Excellency," Alejandro and Diego bowed in his direction.

De las Fuentes rose as well. "Please, gentlemen, I ask that you seat yourselves again and not stand on ceremony. You see before you only a capitán of His Majesty’s Lancers. It is by his orders that this is so and my only claim is to be the acting comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles."

"As Your Excellency wishes," Don Alejandro responded as both he and his son resumed their seats. He looked over at Diego knowing what inquiry would follow.

"Capitán de las Fuentes," Diego continued, "I hope you do not think that I am asking an impertinent question but, are you here as an inspector general, checking up on the situation in Los Angeles? Why would you come to us as a capitán? Are you, perhaps, in disguise?"

"Since you have deduced my true identity," Francisco told them, "and I am certain of your integrity in all matters, I will tell you what only Padre Felipe knows. You may find it, however, more troubling and certainly more enlightening than the stories you have just told me about California."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 11](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante11.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	11. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Eleven

"You know, Corporal Reyes," Sergeant García said as they walked past the prisoners’ cells at the cuartel, "I am very happy that there is no mistake about the wine at the inn. What did you do to get free wine?"

"I don’t know, Sergeant," answered Reyes. "I didn’t do anything. I just went to the inn and bought some wine yesterday and that’s when Señor Pacheco told me I didn’t have to pay."

"I wish someone would buy me some wine," a voice said behind them.

García and Reyes turned to look at the tall vaquero who leaned against the bars of the cell. "I am sorry, Señor Robello," the sergeant responded. "There is no free wine for prisoners. Perhaps you would like some tea or some water?"

Robello let out a snort. "Tea or water? Why are you torturing me? Why can’t you get me some wine?"

"Well, you would have to pay for it," replied García.

"Why should I pay for something when the corporal gets it for free?" complained Robello. "Why should he get something that nobody else gets?"

García contemplated the question. "I asked myself the same question," he told the prisoner. He gave Reyes a long look.

"Say, Sergeant, I have an idea. Maybe I get the wine because I’m a corporal. Maybe there is a special day that corporals get free wine."

"Maybe there are two special days," García said with a raised finger. "Yesterday and today. It will be interesting to see if your luck holds for tomorrow." He thought a moment. "I wonder if there are special days for sergeants."

"I don’t know," replied Reyes. "Maybe you should ask Señor Pacheco if there are special days for sergeants."

"That’s a very good idea, Corporal," smiled García. "I will ask Señor Pacheco tonight."

"Ask him if there’s a special day for prisoners," Robello interjected sarcastically. "If there is not, I am going to complain."

García laughed at that. "And who are you going to complain to, Señor Robello? To Señor Pacheco?"

"I’ll complain to the Comandante, to Capitán de las Fuentes," replied Robello. "He talked a lot about justice. I’ll see if he can make some more justice for me."

"I think you should speak with him tomorrow because he will not be our comandante for too much longer," García told him. "Capitán Monastario will be coming back and then…well, then, things will not be so good for you, Señor Robello." García paused. "It won’t be too good for any of us," he mused.

There was a stir in the next cell. The prisoner rose from the sleeping platform and came up to the cell door. It was Joaquín Enríquez. "When will Monastario be coming back?" he asked in an agitated voice.

García turned towards the dark cell. "I do not know for certain, Señor Enríquez," he replied. "Capitán Monastario did not say. I imagine it will be in several days, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week. Who knows?"

Each man was quiet a moment as if contemplating the same fate. Finally, García shook himself. "Let’s go check on Hugo, Corporal. He is supposed to be bringing supper to the prisoners. I think he is running a little late."

"Maybe he needs some help with the food, Sergeant," Reyes replied.

"I will be more than happy to help him with that," García replied as he walked off with the corporal.

Back at the cell, Tomás Robello shook his head. "You know, Enríquez," he said to the man in the jail next to his, "you and I had better enjoy the few days we have left before Monastario comes back. After that, this place is going to take a turn for the worse." He listened for a reply, but there was none. He returned to the sleeping platform and sat up against the wall contemplating his future. "Yes," he repeated, "this place is going to take a turn for the worse."

******************

"I don’t know where she could have possibly gone," María Pérez replied to her husband’s repeated questions. "I did not see her leave."

"She’s not in her room at all. Perhaps she left with De las Fuentes. She acts so unnaturally, nothing she would do would surprise me," Sebastian retorted. "If he were not the comandante, what I wouldn’t tell him."

María was shocked. "How could you imply such a thing about your own daughter?" she said with tears in her eyes. "Margarita would never leave at night with a man without letting us know and without having a chaperone. I hardly think that a man like Capitán de las Fuentes would act dishonorably. He’s a fine gentleman."

"What do you know?" her husband attacked her. "You never even knew that she had become acquainted with the fellow, yet here she is falling all over him, barely knowing him at all."

"Padre Felipe introduced them and she later met him in church," María responded defensively. "The padre would have never introduced them if he did not think the captain was not a gentleman. How could you think otherwise? His manners are perfect and it is important that Margarita likes him so much. She has never shown any interest in any man and now that she has, you want to find fault with him."

"He’s just an overly pompous official and a colossal bore," Sebastian responded. "You are hardly in any position to have an opinion of him, hardly knowing him yourself. Padre Felipe no longer knows how to act responsibly over this matter. I strongly suggest that you don’t try to take her side against our family interests. I have told Salvador here that I have promised her to him and that is the way it is going to be. I will hardly allow you or her to stand in my way. Do I make myself clear?"

"You just don’t want to hear the truth. The truth is that Margarita will not marry just anyone. She will only marry whom she loves," María began.

"Enough of this nonsense," Sebastian shouted, interrupting her. "How dare you challenge me! You go to your room now! I will deal with both of you later." He was furious. He didn’t want Salvador to think that he could not control his own wife and daughter.

Salvador watched the scene without any expression on his face. He was growing impatient at the entire situation and thought that Pérez was making a mess of things. He considered taking the situation into his own hands. "Don Sebastian," he said after watching María climb the stairs towards her room, "I have a suggestion. Your idea about tomorrow night at the party is a good one. I’ll insist that she dance with me all night and it will not only bring us together, everyone will see us and make the right assumptions. As for later this evening, I’ll come back and we can see how we can respond more favorably to her music. Since she likes it so much, I can take a more active role in looking interested. De las Fuentes is very clever, it’s true, but I think he’s bluffing, just like you suggested. He probably can’t play worth a tinker’s damn. He half admitted it when I asked him about guitar. We need to call him out and show Margarita that he is not what he claims to be. You know how much Capitán Monastario postures; this fellow is probably of the same breed, just more polished at it. He _is_ pretty convincing. That is why we need to do something about it."

Sebastian thought a moment. "You may have something there. Margarita will expect him to be what she fantasizes him to be. When he doesn’t meet her expectations, she will become more vulnerable and that is when we pounce." He rubbed his hands together. "You know, Salvador, I like the way we think alike."

**********************

"What could ever have led His Majesty to act so vindictively against you, Your Excellency?" asked Diego indignantly. "How could he possibly object to your reports which have proved not only to be accurate, but full of foresight?"

"The truth of the matter is that His Majesty felt it necessary to punish me for what he viewed as my contrary ways – I did not uphold wrong policies and challenged those who did. He stripped me of my position on the General Staff to make sure no one would question his advisors," explained the small man with the moustache and beard.

"How did this come about, if I may ask?" Alejandro interjected. "You were the voice of reason during times of confusion and fear."

"I attended a General Staff meeting at which he was present. He made an offhand remark that ‘the colonel’ should fetch thus and so documents. There was a stir among some. I had no idea he was referring to me since there were no colonels present at this meeting. All of us just stood there around the table and he finally turned to one of his favorites – I shall not mention his name – and told him to ‘instruct the Colonel.’ That is how I learned of my demotion. I suppose since the war had ended he felt he could dispense with my services much easier."

"That is a shocking way to deal with anyone," remarked Diego. "And you had no warning?"

"I was, of course, aware of His Majesty’s annoyance at just about anything I spoke of," answered De las Fuentes, "but I had no idea it had reached the point of such rancor. I personally believe those seeking to ingratiate themselves with him encouraged him. I was an easier target than you might imagine."

"I don’t understand," Alejandro shook his head. "Not you, of all people."

"This was, sadly, taken to an extreme, not just over military matters," De las Fuentes explained. "His Majesty found further displeasure in my appearances at Court, at the theatre, at any and all affairs of state whether public or private. It seems that he could not abide my person at all. In short, he found my presence in Spain an anathema to him. In order to encourage my exile, which he would not order directly himself, he created a series of incidents that forced my hand, including a further demotion to the rank of captain. He even forbade me to marry my fiancée. I left Spain in despair. I ended up on the staff of the colonial army in Lima, thanks to friends. However, I have been moved around, probably to insure that I do not become too settled in any one place where one can build friendships and loyalties. As to your question - No, I am not an inspector of any kind, merely a substitute for Capitán Monastario who wished an officer to be appointed during his absence."  
  
"I am shocked, Your Excellency," exclaimed Alejandro. "How could His Majesty ever take offence from you? You are his own cousin."

"I did not know you were related to His Majesty," Diego commented. "Does he act like this towards other members of his family or relatives?"

"Ah, young Don," Francisco responded, "Let me explain our relationship. It is not so literal as it would seem. You see, there are families in Spain far nobler than the Italian Bourbons who now occupy the throne. The Ducque of Osuna and those of Alba, Medinaceli and the Comte of Fuentes y Mora, the princes of Fuentes y Alarcón, and others - we are the hereditary nobility of Spain. Sad to say that most of the families are so inbred that they produce imbecilic or mediocre offspring, just as the Spanish Hapsburgs who went extinct. My family is one of the exceptions in that regard, praise be to God. As to your other question: We, as such, are referred to as ‘cousins’ and traditionally the kings have paid deference to us, knowing that we are equal to or even above them. Such families as ours are viewed as allies and friends. Only _we_ do not remove our hats in the presence of the king; only _we_ have the right to sit in the presence of the king; and only _we_ do not fear to give a king our honest opinion without giving offense. But the times have changed, at least for me."

"Surely you do not harbor Republican sentiments to warrant such treatment?" asked Alejandro, probing a bit. He was only half serious and gave a mischievous smile.

De las Fuentes looked almost shocked at the suggestion and raised his hands in dismay at the idea. "I am a monarchist to the marrow of my bones!" he exclaimed. Then he smiled apologetically as if one caught off guard. "Ah, but I truly believe in enlightened monarchy, in the Philosopher King."

"Then is his hostility a personal one as well?" asked Alejandro seriously.

"The truth of the matter is that His Majesty takes offense to me on a number of levels, starting with the personal," Francisco explained. "You may find this bordering on the ridiculous, but it is a fact. I am his exact height and I look him in the eye as I do each of you. I am told that he is intimidated by such forwardness. He will not meet my gaze. I have been told that His Majesty finds offense at the sound of my voice. He finds that it cows him. His own voice is high pitched which is no fault of his own, as God has given us what He wills. Due to the neglect of his own parents, His Majesty does not fence, does not ride, does not dance well, plays no musical instruments, reads no books, and has no curiosity about the world. He has never been trained in the armed forces, has never traveled to any land, except for France where he was a prisoner of Bonaparte, albeit a pampered one. He spent his time there - five years - playing cards, billiards or hunting. He has never looked through a telescope or a microscope and has no ambition to do so. He seems to resent those who have. His Majesty, I am told, found offense at my discussion of such topics that invite intelligent reflection or contemplation. I encouraged His Majesty to interact with foreigners at Court and he did so, finding much pleasure in such activities, yet he blames me for having too many foreign friends. I am sure that, in some way, the manner in which I conduct myself greatly offends His Majesty."

"It is hard to believe that His Majesty could be so petty," Diego said, shaking his head. "Could it be possible that he objected to your natural talents because he has none himself?"

"There are other, more important reasons, beyond the personal and they are political," Francisco continued. "Let me give you a further example. While he was held captive in France during the war, those fighting the French established the Cortes of Cádiz. That was in 1812\. You must understand that we had no king in Spain during that time. The Cortes established a constitution for Spain and a constitutional monarchy. I supported this with many misgivings because of the attack on monarchical right. The constitution also abolished the special legal status and landed seigniorial rights of those of us in the nobility. I was opposed to this. On the one hand, I supported other changes because they established formal civil equality for all subjects and I am an enlightened man in this regard. Then, on the other hand, I opposed constitutional government because it placed legislative power in the hands of a broadly elected parliament besides limiting the power of the crown."

"May I ask you why you oppose a broadly elected parliament?" asked Diego. "I’m afraid I don’t understand many of these political views."

"Ah," replied the captain. "Based on logic, the population at large would first have to be broadly educated. Many of our Spaniards are illiterate. Hundreds of schools would need to be built, men of culture trained and paid for by the state. I believe we could manage this as long as we were not trapped in wars that sap the wealth of the kingdom so grievously. It would take decades to accomplish such a vision while not offending the Church too much. The merchant class would have to be less grasping and less exploitative of those under their power to trust them in participating in decisions that bring them control over others. Knowledge is power and that is what these other two classes lack along with the sense of when to properly use such power. In this day and age I fear their intentions are good, but their current perspective would be their undoing. I believe that the power of the king should not be curtailed, but that he needs access to better advisors."

"Your Excellency, I wish you no offense," Alejandro said, leaning forward slightly. "Based on the problems with the monarchy that we have had since the death of Carlos III, don’t you think limited powers for the king would make a certain amount of sense? A king who has seen fit to reestablish the Inquisition, a king who opposes religious toleration, a king who persecutes members of his own class - are these not good reasons to limit monarchy?"

"My friend, I do not take offense at your remarks. I do not do so because we are reasonable men attempting to examine how to perfect government," Francisco responded. "I think good government depends on the monarch, such as Carlos III under whom we prospered as a kingdom, and advisors who should be men of learning and self sacrifice. What we have now is an aberration. I myself support religious toleration, which is something that not even the Cádiz Cortes would support. In fact, they deliberately excluded it. I was astonished that in all their self-professed liberalism, they would not do this. I have met many educated non-Catholic foreigners, such as Jews, Protestants, and even atheists. While I do not agree with them, I find that most of them are honorable and principled individuals and that is how they should be treated. I supported the abolition of the Inquisition and was later condemned for taking this stand. On the other hand, I also opposed the so-called ‘freedom of expression’ because I believe it is nothing more than a guise for a radical journalism that has demanded thoroughgoing reform of its own choosing and produced a wave of categorically anti-Christian writings. When people are confused by the social and economic chaos released by injustice and wars, some turn to men of moral debasement like the Frenchman, the Marquis de Sade. When the monarchy of France tolerated such a man and his writings, they helped to advance the decay of civic virtue. But perhaps they no longer cared. And when you no longer care about your subjects, you are lost. I also opposed the separation of church and state in terms of the religious basis of good monarchy on earth. On the other hand, even the Church needs to be accountable to its flock and the corrupt and greedy weeded out."

Bernardo entered the room silently and refilled the wineglasses of the three men. So intent were they in their conversation that they only nodded absently to him. Bernardo retreated into the background and listened to the conversation with his back turned as if engaged in other tasks.

De las Fuentes continued. "My major heresy, I suppose, is that I am opposed to the unenlightened monarchy of Ferdinand and the re-imposition of the Inquisition and all its savage repressions of sincere Christians. What I deplore most is what I view as inept absolutism. It ushers in a conflict of classes and the terrifying possibility of a revolution like what happened in France. Don’t misunderstand me. I think that we Spaniards are ultimately above this, but I see the decline in monarchy going hand in hand with all our troubles. His Majesty was furious at anyone who minutely agreed with the Cortes and has never forgiven us for supporting any aspect of it. So, his personal antipathy and his political hostility have been at the core of this problem. His wife opposed his obsession with breaking me, but was unable to use her influence in this matter. She was a good influence on him in general and moderated his actions overall. I grieved considerably upon hearing of her premature death from tuberculosis just a few months ago."

"You know, Your Excellency, despite our differences, I want you to know that you have many friends and sympathizers that you do not know of," Alejandro said with great sincerity. "Each one of us honors a man like you and we wish that, somehow, we could be of service to you."

For the first time Francisco de las Fuentes showed some emotion. He looked beyond the two men to the window and to the darkness beyond it. "I am deeply moved by your friendship and understanding. It was an episode of my life that is still very painful for me," he confessed in a very quiet voice. "His Majesty intervened most vindictively in both my professional as well as personal life." He looked up again at his hosts. "But you must not endanger yourself. From what I understand, this Capitán Monastario is the kind of man who would take much pleasure in persecuting anyone who could be singled out for political differences with the Crown. Politically, I am not worth the trouble. Sometimes I am very grateful that few know of my past, and yet sometimes it is a relief to meet someone to share it with."

"Your Excellency, I believe that there is always hope," Diego spoke earnestly. "For what is life without hope? Surely there is justice in this world of ours and the pendulum must swing in the other direction."

"I hope you are right, Don Diego," Francisco responded. "There seems to be a higher power, though, that is punishing me, and not just the king. I am certain of it. There have been too many incidents to add up to just one angry king in Spain. I have attempted to analyze it. I believe that I have other political enemies who have employed the powers of witches or warlocks to constantly plague my steps."

Alejandro de la Vega looked startled. "What makes you believe this, Your Excellency?" He was now very concerned about the prince’s mental state.

"Ah, I know what you are thinking," the officer replied, taking in the reaction of the two men sitting opposite him. "Rest assured I am not mad, or at least I do not think that I am. However, there are too many coincidences to believe otherwise. Let me give you an example of why I believe this is so. I have the same dream over and over, like a windmill turning constantly. It is a nightmare. I cannot sleep at all in my bed. The only place I sleep is in church where I feel protected to some degree, perhaps by one of the saints or by the Holy Virgin. Only they could counter the magic of the dark forces."

"When did this nightmare begin?" Diego asked.

"It began after the king began to take personal vengeance against me. His curses, or those of others, have followed me here to the Américas," explained De las Fuentes. "Sometimes I am so tired from lack of sleep, I feel as if I am sleepwalking through life. I go to church everyday to ask forgiveness and to ask God if He can give me some guidance or perhaps make a sign to show that He has heard my confessions. I do not know what else to do. I even consulted with black witches while in a Brazilian port. One threw all sorts of dirt at me and mumbled in a foreign tongue. She made a doll in the representation of my enemies and stuck it full of thorns. She danced around a fire and blew incense into the air. The other led me into the ocean in some rite and submerged me, almost like a baptismal. I was not very impressed, but then I am disconcerted by any woman, black or white, who would smoke a cigar. I later thought that I had acted very foolishly in consulting pagans. Fortunately no one knew that I had done this, so by the time the ship reached Peru, there were other matters to attend to." De las Fuentes paused and smiled sadly. "I have often wondered myself if I am going mad. My duties in the army and attending to the affairs and concerns of the subjects of the king has kept me occupied and for this I am grateful."

"Your Excellency, any man who has endured what you have has good reason to question to what extent his punishment was reasonable," Alejandro told him. "I know of noblemen being banished to the provinces for this offense or that by the king. It was a whim and always temporary, just to make a point. It happened under Carlos IV. But never has a prince been subjected to such injustice as you have. But these injustices are politically and personally motivated as you yourself have pointed out. Every king has his servants and they help him extend his actions even across the seas. This is where your misfortune has come from, not from witches. We are the products of social and political fortunes or misfortunes and these are acts of men, not acts of God or demigods. As children of the Enlightenment, whether monarchist, republican, or apolitical, we know there are processes at work and each one plays itself out to a logical conclusion. Once it has, the pendulum begins to swing in the opposite direction. Did you not state so yourself when you spoke at the hearings of balance and reason?"

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. "You sound much like Señor Enríquez who debated me today on this very topic. He did so after an attack of the twitching illness with which he is afflicted. He does not believe that his affliction has anything to do with possession or witchcraft. He says there is a reason behind it and he told me many things that happened to him in his life. I still think he must be possessed because, despite his adherence to reason, he also told me that he believes that he is more than one being inhabiting the same body. When I asked him to explain this, he said that he perceives himself as two different men, one rational, one irrational. I told him that today he was the rational man, but in the courtroom he seemed possessed and out of control."

"I do not deny that Señor Enríquez displays starkly different behavior at the most unexpected times," Alejandro admitted, "but I must say that I believe that there are varying degrees of madness. Madmen are rarely always out of control, but there are incidents or perhaps illnesses that seem to trigger their malaise. We may not understand the reasons for this but they still exist in whatever form they do. Some men are born with physical defects while others are born with mental ones. Perhaps there is a relationship between the two, a relationship that is obscure to us because one affliction is obvious and the other hidden."

"You know, Your Excellency," Diego added, "just because we cannot explain something does not mean the occult is at work. We humans are very ignorant about the world and how nature works. Once upon a time we did not know what lightning was and attributed it to the wrath of the gods. Now, with advances in science, we are able to view it as a kind of fluid in the same nature as electricity. The American scientist, Benjamin Franklin, is famous for his writings on this. Our European scientists, who agree with this, insist that we must use our natural ability to reason. Did not the scientist Isaac Newton, whom you so rightly quoted, also advocate the use of empirical knowledge and observation to deduce actions?"

"You gentlemen put me to shame," Francisco remarked ruefully. "Although I would respond by saying that while much of what you say is undeniable, I would add that there are other avenues by which we understand our world, and ones not solely based on reason. How do we place such qualities as intuition, imagination, or common sense? I admit that Señor Enríquez told me some facts about his life that could cause me to come to very different conclusions from the ones I have espoused. I am grateful to you gentlemen for arguing these points with me, for it is in such discussion that small truths are born. Although I prefer to think of myself as a child of the Enlightenment, I am also a prince. I am a child of our system of monarchy and church, a system that could be perfected in so many ways had we the wisdom to act out the teachings we have been given. Under the right kind of king, what such leadership could not accomplish."

"Many of us wish that this could be so, Your Excellency," Alejandro commented. "I have often wondered if the reason we have yet to attain is because we travel through stages of development, just as a baby becomes a child and a child becomes a man. Soon the man becomes an old man and then is replaced by still yet another baby who becomes a child and so on. We no longer live in caves and go naked or wear animal skins. We no longer worship animals as gods. We no longer live in ignorance of the fact that there are men like ourselves in many parts of the world, dreaming the same dreams that we do - philosophically and personally. There are many good developments that bring us closer together as men, developments that have occurred in our own lifetime. But all of this is a process of becoming. We see that the world has its ups and downs, but there is room for all of us to prosper in our own way, but we need, as I think all of us will agree, to be children of the Enlightenment."

"I think my father is referring to a kind of cycle that we experience both as men as well as being a part of our world," Diego interjected. "I know Your Excellency has had both good fortune in his life as well as bad. But everything must have a beginning and an end. I would like to think that it is time that a new cycle begins for you here in California. Who knows, perhaps it has already begun."

"I will seriously contemplate your words, gentlemen," responded Francisco de las Fuentes. "You give me much to meditate upon. I regret that, at times, my melancholy can get the better of me. I seek the balance and I take heart in your passion for optimism." A loud knocking at the door of the hacienda interrupted his words.

Bernardo hurried out to see what the commotion was. Alejandro and Diego rose to their feet when the mozo reappeared followed by Sergeant García.

"Begging your pardon, Don Alejandro, I have some very important news for the Comandante," García said, breathing heavily upon entering the room. He saluted the officer as De las Fuentes rose to his feet.

The captain noted at once that the sergeant’s expression did not bode of good tidings.

"What is the matter, Sergeant? What brings you all the way out here?" he asked.

"I regret to report that one of the prisoners escaped, Capitán," García told him with great apprehension in his voice. "It happened suddenly and no one expected it."

"Señor Enríquez?" asked De las Fuentes.

"Sí, Comandante," García nodded. He looked over at the De la Vegas as he spoke. "I am sorry, Capitán, he acted like a wild man and climbed over the roof to make his escape."

"Gentlemen, I suggest that you ask your servants to be very vigilant until Señor Enríquez is apprehended. He made threats against you and against some of your neighbors both here as well in town," the officer said. "You may wish to carry a firearm with you. Not knowing whether his madness is upon him, I’m afraid we must assume the worst." He turned to the sergeant. "Did you bring any of the soldiers with you?"

"Sí, Comandante."

"Good. You need to ride out to the residences of Don Leon Santos and Don Juan Villa to warn them of what has occurred. When you have done this, return to the pueblo. We will need to warn the three men there as well. We cannot search the countryside in this darkness but we can secure the town. Go now, Sergeant, and make haste."

"Sí, Comandante!" García saluted, then spun on his heel and hurried out of the room.

De las Fuentes turned to his hosts. "Gentlemen, I regret that I must return to the cuartel. I am very honored to have been a guest in your home and to have discussed with you our mutual concerns for Spain and for our person. There is no greater honor for me than to have shared this with you and to regard you as our friend. I hope that someday I may return the courtesy." He bowed low, as the de la Vegas did likewise, and departed.

After escorting their guest to the front door, Alejandro and Diego turned back to finish the last of the wine in their glasses.

"You know, Father, Capitán de las Fuentes personifies the very kind of prince who could make a real difference in Spain for all men," Diego observed. "I understand exactly what Padre Felipe told me this morning when he said that he feels so deeply for Don Francisco. Despite his courage, he has had to endure much that would have broken other men."

"I agree," Alejandro nodded. "However, we must turn to other matters. Let us inform the servants what we will need to do based on Señor Enríquez’s escape." He paused, "Oh Diego, will you be up late tonight as usual?"

"No, Father, I am going to turn in early tonight." He smiled almost apologetically. "I drank a little too much wine this evening,"

"Be vigilant and keep Bernardo close by in case of trouble. Good night, son," his father advised.

Bernardo joined his young master in his bedroom a short while later. Diego had already shed his blue and silver-decorated ranchero attire for a black shirt, pants, cape, mask and hat. "You know, Bernardo," he told the mozo, "I think it would be a good idea for El Zorro to shadow our comandante back to town. I want to keep an eye on him. I think it would be very bad for us, and for Los Angeles, if anything unfortunate were to happen to him because of Señor Enríquez."

With those words, Diego de la Vega passed through the secret door by the fireplace and vanished into the darkness of the secret passageway.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 12](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante12.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	12. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Twelve

Ismaida Rodriguez was in her room reading a book when she heard a strange tapping at her half-opened window. "Psst, pssssst. Ismaida."

She looked up, recognizing the voice. She saw a face and was surprised. The book dropped from her lap as she rose and hurried over to the window. She opened it and, to her astonishment, saw one of her best friends. "Margarita!" she exclaimed. "Good heavens, what are you doing up here? Did you climb all the way up in the tree?" She moved aside as Margarita climbed in over the sill. "Why didn’t you come to the front door?"

"Shhh," Margarita whispered. "I didn’t want anyone to see me."

"What is going on? Look, you have leaves on your skirt and in your hair. You might get holes poked in your blouse," the girl responded picking at some leaves in her friend’s hair and from off her long black skirt. "What if you had fallen out of the branches?"

"Oh, that’s all right," Margarita said, brushing off her blouse and skirt. "Ismaida, my father is trying to push Salvador on me **_again_** and I just had to escape. Thank all the saints that Don Francisco showed up this afternoon like he promised. He really saved me once again. He’s so wonderful."

"Come, tell me what happened," Ismaida said, taking her hand and leading her toward the settee. "You told me earlier that you met Don Francisco at church after your appointment with Padre Felipe. What did he say? What did you do?" Both young women sat down.

The girl in black turned towards her friend with bright eyes and a happy smile. "Well, after we met in church, we walked to the churchyard and sat on our favorite bench under the oak tree. He was so kind and held my hands. Then he told me that he thinks my piano playing is exceptional. Isn’t that so sweet?" Margarita gushed. "I think he wants to see me again. I asked him if he would tell me all about his travels and he said that he would, but only if I would agree to play for him some more. Of course, I promised!" She sighed. "You know, Ismaida, I just adore him. Did you notice how his moustaches turn up at the ends? He has the nicest smile. When he smiles, his eyes just light up. Did you notice that his eyes are light blue?"

"No, I didn’t notice those things, but I know that you do, Margarita," responded Ismaida with a knowing look. "What else did he say?"

"Did you know he’s a musician, just like we are?" Margarita enthused, watching the other girl's eyebrows rise in surprise. "When Francisco asked Señor Muõz if he plays at all, and of course he doesn’t, Salvador got nasty and asked Francisco if he does. Do you know what Francisco said?"

"No, I don’t," smiled the other. She was enjoying her friend’s delight in telling the story.

"Well, he said he played several instruments. First, violin, then flute, and he said he also plays a little piano. I was amazed and so happy. No wonder he understands me so well."

"All those instruments?" Ismaida looked very impressed.

"And not only that," Margarita confided. "He says that he plays other ones, but very poorly. My father jumped down his throat and said that he couldn’t possibly be so talented, but Francisco had a magnificent reply. He said ‘I had a good upbringing.’ I almost laughed at that. What a delightful response, and you know something? I bet it is true."

"Perhaps his family is musical, just like ours," her friend commented thoughtfully. "What else did you find out about him?"

"I told Juanita that his stories about his travels are amazing. Did you know he talks like he met old king Carlos IV and his family and was there at the royal palaces? I don’t think anyone could talk like that unless he had actually been there. I was thinking about it all afternoon. Perhaps he is a famous war hero and was admitted to the palace where he saw all those things."

"You think about Capitán de las Fuentes a lot, don’t you Margarita?" Ismaida smiled. "I think you’re falling in love with him. When you talk about him you glow like a candle, especially your eyes." She looked askance at her friend for some confirmation.

"Oh, Ismaida, I’m just so mad about him," Margarita exclaimed. "It’s crazy, but all I do is think about him and I can hardly wait to see him again. He’s better than all my dreams." Suddenly she looked very sad. Tears came to her eyes. "Oh, Ismaida, I just don’t want anyone except Don Francisco and now my father is trying to force Salvador on me and I just hate Salvador so much. I want Francisco to take me away and rescue me. But, Ismaida, I don’t know if Francisco feels that way about me." She looked very worried. "Padre Felipe told me that I have to tell the one I love what is in my heart, but I don’t know what he would think if I did."

"Why don’t you just tell him?" Ismaida advised. "After all, if you never tell him, he’ll never know."

"I don’t know if that would do, Ismaida," Margarita responded. "Francisco is so proper, so well-mannered and I wouldn’t want to shock him so soon - after all, we just met. Oh, I’ve tried to let him know in so many ways. I even left my kerchief for him today and he brought it back to me. I asked him if he would like to keep it."

"Oh, Margarita, Capitán de las Fuentes could hardly be shocked by anything like that. After all, he’s a comandante and," she added, wanting to appear very grown-up, "he seems like a very mature and, hmm, sophisticated man. What else did he say?"

Margarita sighed. "He was so gracious. He said that he was honored and would keep my kerchief. I imagined that he looked very pleased about it. Oh, Ismaida, what shall I do? Maybe he thinks I’m just a silly girl and he’s just being nice." A horrible thought then occurred to her. "What if he thinks I’m an old maid? I’m almost twenty-nine!" She felt depressed for a moment, overcome with self-doubt.

"Don’t be silly," Ismaida told her, puttting her arms around her friend and hugging her. "You’re not an old maid, Margarita. You are important and you are special, too, dear. I won’t have you talking this way. There is no reason why you should accept anything less than the man you really love. I know you love him. All you do is talk about him. You can’t find a single fault with him even though - I hope you’ll forgive me - he’s, well, crippled. If anyone were to ever say anything against him, why, you’d grab the closest flower pot and crack him over the head." She smiled. "Now, wouldn’t you?"

Margarita smiled weakly in return, nodded and held her friend close. "How well you know me, Ismaida. Yes, I think that I really would." She gazed at the tiny young woman with the dark hair. "I don’t even notice that he is crippled at all. I don’t see it. I see many other things." She paused again. "Don’t you think Don Francisco cuts a fine figure in his uniform, too? He keeps himself nice and trim. He has real dignity and he cares about other people, not just himself. He’s not too tall for me and he speaks so well, just like a scholar of immense learning. I could listen to him talk for hours." She sighed deeply. "And his voice is so manly and commanding, yet he speaks so mildly, never shouting at anyone. There are so many nice things I could say about him."

"You’ve already said quite a bit," Ismaida teased. "You’ve only known him a few days now and to listen to you, you’ve known him all your life."

"Now that you mention it, it does seem like I’ve known him for much longer," Margarita confessed. "Maybe because I’ve waited for someone like him for so long, I feel like I know him better than I probably do." She sighed, then looked up at the gilt clock on the table next to the settee. "Oh, my, I bet I’ve been here a long time. I had better go now."

"I want to see you happy for our party tomorrow night," Ismaida told her, changing the subject. "Almost everyone will be coming including Don Diego and Don Leon. Have you told Diego about Don Francisco?"

"I haven’t seen Diego at all recently, but I will ask him what he thinks. Francisco went out to Don Alejandro’s for dinner this evening. That is where he is now," Margarita told her. "Oh, I need to ask you a favor, Ismaida. I think my father took all my music. Francisco will be over to listen to my playing. Could I possibly get your music sheets from you? I want the ones we’ve been practicing for several weeks plus the Mozart piece. Oh, I almost forgot. Ismaida, you _must_ have your father invite Capitán de las Fuentes to his party tomorrow night. He _has_ to come. My father is going to invite Salvador and I think I know what they are planning. Please, run quickly and ask him, but don’t let anyone know that I asked for him, all right?"

"I will," promised Ismaida. "Let me see if anyone is downstairs right now. I have the music sheets right over here." She picked some several sheets and handed them to Margarita. "If no one is there, you can go out the front door. I wouldn’t want you to fall climbing back down the tree. I still can’t believe you climbed all the way up to my window." She beckoned Margarita over to the door. "As soon as you are safely out the door, I will ask Father if he has invited the new comandante to our party. I’ll insist that he do so. Don’t you worry, Don Francisco will be here."

Margarita embraced her in thanks, then both girls tiptoed down the stairs. After Margarita made her way out of the door, Ismaida stood thinking about her friend. She wanted Margarita to escape Salvador Muñoz’s clutches and if just inviting the comandante to the party would help, she would see to it that he got the invitation. Her father would never refuse such a small request. As a matter of fact, he would probably like Capitán de las Fuentes very much. She had told her parents all about him and about how Margarita thought he was the finest man she had ever met. She told them that Margarita was in love with him.

****************

Tornado knew that hills and roads well and made his way sure-footed along the paths that led down to the main road. His legs stretched out in long strides as he gathered his speed up. His mane and tail blew behind him in the cool breeze of the hills above the darkened pueblo of Los Angeles. Only a few faint specks of light gave any indication of life in the vast basin that held the town with its few hundred inhabitants. The cape of his rider flowed behind him, like flag holding its own in the breeze.

El Zorro knew that De las Fuentes was not too far ahead of him. Although the road was direct, the officer was not completely familiar with it and the night was dark. Nevertheless the officer had made remarkable speed and was about half way back to the pueblo when the masked man caught sight of his faint outline in the road ahead. He slowed Tornado down in order not reveal his presence to the man he pursued.

The night air was full of mysterious sounds, from the hooting of owls seeking their nocturnal prey to the call of a distant coyote. The late Fall winds whipped through the oak trees that grew in abundance on the hills and along the roadway. The outcrops of rocks on the nearby hills gave the impression of otherworldly beings, huge and imposing, silent watchers of their dark kingdoms. To El Zorro these were familiar rhythms of the night but he wondered if the superstitious prince would view the ride as a journey through the haunts of demons or spirits.

Francisco de las Fuentes felt a certain exhilaration as he rode along the dirt road toward the pueblo of Los Angeles. The De La Vegas were true cavaliers, in his opinion, and he respected their ability to see through his disguise by logic and deductive reasoning. In fact, the officer was somewhat relieved that someone now knew something about him. He was a very private individual and normally would not discuss such personal calamities, but he had kept all the hurts bottled up inside of him for far too long. Only Padre Felipe had known of his misfortune but had sought, instead, to talk about uplifting topics rather than touch upon that grief that had torn his heart so much. He did not even discuss it with Alejandro or Diego beyond mentioning the fact in passing because he might have broken down - and that would never do for a prince of Spain. Out here in the night air and away from other humans he could speak her name and talk with her as if she rode the wind with him and it was always Isabel, my beloved Isabel. Gone from his life and not gone, haunting him most of his nights and always smiling, always loving him, even from the grave, she said.

And as much as he loved her, he knew he had to escape from her memory as well. She was alive, in Spain, married to another man, and, who knows, perhaps the mother of children by now. It must be our spirituality that keeps us linked, he thought, for what other chains could bind a man over six thousand miles and from the other side of the world? He sighed again and felt the cool air against his face like a phantom _. I’m very glad to be visiting with Margarita again this evening_ , he thought, _because she is more like Isabel than the Fates should allow, but she is nothing like her in all other regards and that pleases me a great deal, despite all its contradictions_.

He felt the mare under him slow and hesitate to continue along the road despite his urging. He heard what sounded like a crashing in the underbrush not too far away. The animal could smell the approach of another and she did not want to be in its path. She reared slightly in protest. _Maybe she smells the grizzly bears Sergeant García had warned about_. He retreated back up the road to a safe distance and watched with his hand on the grip of his pistol in the saddle holster.

There was the sound of grunting and squealing, and from the distance, De las Fuentes could make out the outline of a herd of wild boar crossing the road up ahead. It was wise to avoid such animals because their fury was so unpredictable. After they passed he continued up the road, thinking about securing the town from Enríquez’s troubling threats, and how he would enjoy listening to Margarita play her piano while ignoring her peevish father. How God worked in such mysterious ways. Here, in a family of weeds, Margarita was a delicate rose - fresh, fragrant, and refreshing - and in danger of being crushed. Was it his destiny to make a difference in her life as well as in the life of Enríquez? Is this why God had sent him to Los Angeles? _I do not know yet, and my mind is too tired to even contemplate it for now_.

****************

Sergeant Demetrio García López was dreading reporting to the comandante about the escaped prisoner. He knew that Capitán de las Fuentes had conducted himself in a reasonable and calm manner thus far, but this situation was different. The escaped prisoner, Enríquez, had threatened almost everyone with death. That made him dangerous. So it was with some apprehension that he reported to the comandante’s office upon his return from warning Don Leon and Don Juan Villa of the prisoner’s escape.

Capitán de las Fuentes sat in the chair at his desk while García explained what had happened. He nodded from time to time and drank a cup of tea.

"We opened the cells to give the prisoners their dinner. When Hugo, I mean Private Ríos, and I got to Señor Enríquez’s cell, we found him lying on the bench. I said to him ‘Good evening, Señor Enríquez. Look what we brought for you - a tasty dinner.’ He did not move and did not say a word. I said ‘Are you awake, Señor?’ He did not answer. I told Private Ríos, to shake the prisoner. Suddenly, Señor Enríquez jumped from the bench, rolled right through my legs and jumped out into the cuartel. It happened so fast, Comandante, I could hardly believe it. Private Ríos and I called out ‘Stop prisoner!’ but Señor Enríquez ran up the stairs of our barracks and climbed up onto the roof from the balcony. Private Carranza took a shot at him from the gates of the cuartel, but Señor Enríquez disappeared over the roof. I tried to think of what you would do, Comandante. I ordered the soldiers to search the streets outside the cuartel to see where he might have gone, but he vanished. After the soldiers returned, I came to inform you of the escape."

Francisco de las Fuentes said nothing for a few moments and looked a bit lost in thought. There was nothing ominous in the silence but it did raise the curiosity of the soldier waiting opposite him.

"Comandante, are you all right?" asked García.

The captain looked up. "I am fine, Sergeant. What do you think might have prompted Señor Enríquez to wish to escape? Was there any indication that he might do so earlier? Did he say anything at all?"

"Well, I don’t think so, Capitán."

"I want you to think very carefully. You say that Señor Enríquez was very quiet. Did he say anything at all to you or to Corporal Reyes or to anyone else this evening?"

"Oh, sí, Comandante. Now I remember. Corporal Reyes and I were talking about wine. You see, Corporal Reyes found that Señor Pacheco was not charging him for wine. I went to investigate and I found that this is true. Corporal Reyes thinks that there must be some special day \- maybe two or three - on which corporals do not have to pay for wine."

De las Fuentes smiled slightly at that remark as the sergeant continued his story.

"Well, when we came back to the cuartel, we were talking about the wine. Then the prisoner, Robello, says that he also wants free wine. We laughed when he said he was going to consult with you about free wine. He said that you, Comandante, talked about justice and he wants his justice with wine." García smiled himself when he saw how amused the officer looked. "I told Señor Robello that if he wanted to talk to you, he should do so soon because nobody knows when Capitán Monastario is going to return. Ah, now I know, Comandante. It was then that Señor Enríquez came up to the bars and asked if Capitán Monastario was coming back soon. I told him that I did not know - perhaps tomorrow or maybe next week. Then I said that would be too bad because things would get worse for everyone."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes, "It would seem that Señor Enríquez perhaps panicked at the idea that he would be in prison when Capitán Monastario returns and this is what prompted his escape."

"Sí, Comandante." The sergeant paused. "Capitán, do you want me to go warn the other men in town of Señor Enríquez’s escape?"

"I have already seen to that, Sergeant. I set up two patrols for an all night sweep of the town. One unit will cover the north and east, the other the south and west part of town. Each unit will comprise four soldiers and will be on watch for four hours, then another four will come on watch and so on in a continuous rotation until dawn. This will prevent anyone from getting too tired or overwrought. Only one of the men in town, Señor Portillo, asked for an armed guard at his home. He is elderly and could not defend himself. I sent Private Cosio to guard him."

"Capitán," García began hesitantly. "I am very sorry that this occurred. I hope you are not too upset by this."

The officer looked up at the big soldier who looked so uncertain. "Sergeant, when unexpected incidents occur, we just try to respond the best that we can. What you did was right - you sent the soldiers out to hunt for the prisoner; you came and informed me of what occurred; you carried out your orders to warn the rancheros, and you have given me a full report. This is about all that you can do. What we must do is learn from our mistakes and try to insure that such an escape does not happen again by taking more precautions. Everyone will now have to be more vigilant and tomorrow we will begin our search into the countryside to seek out Señor Enríquez. We will need to search in the places that he is known to have lived, worked or visited. I already have this information. I will brief you in the morning. Ah, yes, one further thing. I have given everyone the order that Señor Enríquez is to be taken alive. I do not want him harmed if it can be avoided. Is this clear?"

"Sí, Comandante. We will try to capture Señor Enríquez alive."

"And now, if you will excuse me, I have an evening appointment that I must attend to. Please see to it that the patrols continue their duties. If there is any kind of emergency, you may reach me at the home of Señor Sebastian Pérez. I will return later tonight."

The fat sergeant saluted and watched the small man depart from his office. He felt a great sense of relief on the one hand and a sense of pride on the other. The captain had told him that he had done a good job, and that he had done all that could be done. The officer had been very fair and said that everyone needed to learn from mistakes. The capitán had treated him courteously while telling him that he would need to be more vigilant. García sighed. A soldier could get to love the army with a comandante like him.

***************

El Zorro watched from the shadows on a high rooftop as a small group of four soldiers left the cuartel with torches. They crossed the plaza and took the street heading toward the northern end of the pueblo. Just a few minutes later, another group of four left the cuartel, heading in the opposite direction. They were also armed with torches. The night vigil had begun, thought the masked man. It would be easy to avoid them by traveling on roof tops and dropping into gardens. He would have the advantage of darkness and he knew the town far better than the escaped prisoner, Enríquez, or the soldiers. He had followed De las Fuentes into the pueblo and was satisfied that there were no incidents other than the wild boars on the road. He now watched the capitán walk out of the cuartel and head towards the residence of Margarita Pérez. In a well-to-do neighborhood such as her parent’s, there were lighted torches outside the high walls of such residences. Nevertheless, the masked man followed the comandante quietly on foot in the shadows, ever vigilant for unwitting passersby.

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes had just closed the door of the patio at the Pérez residence when he heard a strange sound coming from a tree near the wall at the gate. There, someone was calling him by name, very quietly. "Pssst, Don Francisco. Psssst." It was the voice of a young lady.

He looked up and, to his astonishment, he saw Margarita up in a tree whose branches hung over the high wall. She was almost invisible with the black shawl wrapped around her. She allowed it to drop, revealing her white blouse which looked almost ghostlike in the torchlight. He picked it up and draped it on the end of the long stone bench.

"Good heavens," he exclaimed. "Margarita! Is that you? By all the saints, what are you doing up there?" He watched her ease her way down gingerly through the branches. He climbed awkwardly up on the bench along the wall by the tree to help her down the rest of the way, softly cursing his bad leg. He held up his hands as she slid the last few feet into his arms.

She smiled up into his face. "Oh, Don Francisco! Thank you so much. Climbing up is easy. Getting down is much harder." She loved feeling his arms around her. She fluttered her eyes at him and gave him a wide-eyed gaze of utter innocence.

He stepped down onto the patio on his good leg as best he could. Straightening up, he saw that her eyes were only on his face, not even noticing his bad leg. He held up his arms to her and helped her down. "My dear, how is it that you are in a tree?"

She held onto his hands and whispered, "It’s the only place that they don’t think of to look for me and, believe me, they were out looking for me on the patio."

He understood at once. He gave her a look of pure affection. "You know, Margarita, you are a most remarkable woman in more ways than one - imaginative, formidable, something quite rare **-** and most welcome." He knew she was blushing even though it was hard to tell in the flickering light. He felt her body begin radiating that unmistakable female chemistry that says so much without words and is manifest in its most sincere intent and interest. He was a little surprised by it - and a bit flattered himself.

"You _are_ the sweetest man," she said in a soft voice. "I don’t think I’ve ever met a finer man than you." She squeezed his hand. "Francisco, you are a very special man."

"Thank you, dear," he replied very sincerely. "Your words and sentiments honor me. I do not believe that I deserve them." Then he whispered, "But I am most concerned about your reputation." He looked towards the heavy oak door of the house. "Whatever will your parents think?" He picked up the shawl and carefully draped it around her shoulders.

"Oh, just a moment," she said. She leaned behind the stone bench and lifted up some parchment. "My music." She sighed as they walked arm in arm toward the door. "Francisco, I don’t believe my parents think very much of me at all."

He wanted to tell her that this was not true and that all parents loved their children. But he knew it was not entirely true. He remembered how His late Majesty and the queen had treated their son, Ferdinand, so shamefully and look at the consequences it had wrought -for Spain and for all its subjects. He nodded. "That may be true," he told her, "but where parents can sometimes be blind, friends who love you, are not." He thought only a moment before adding, "And I most certainly am not."

Margarita reached for the door handle and opened it. She gestured him inside, smiling. As they went through the open door and it closed behind them, a man in a black cape and mask eased himself to the top of the wall and looked around. He looked up into the branches of the tree so recently occupied by a very musical and imaginative young lady of his acquaintance. An excellent lookout spot, he thought - a hardy old tree with many branches and plenty of leaves that could hide an observer. The flat top of the wall would provide an easy way to travel from one side of the patio to the other or into a neighboring garden. He settled himself comfortably on a broad limb and prepared to spend his time watching the movements on the road and waiting to catch sight of the ever- elusive Joaquín Enríquez.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 13](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante13.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	13. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Thirteen

Sebastian Pérez was irritated. Salvador Muñoz was running late and he wanted him to be there when the captain arrived as they had planned. When Margarita opened the front door with De las Fuentes at her side, he voiced his displeasure at where she had been for the past four hours. He began to imply that perhaps she had gone off with the officer but the look he received from the comandante was so icy that he stopped in the middle of the sentence. At the same time he also noticed the officer’s right hand had subtly moved to the hilt and that the saber had left the scabbard about two inches while they were speaking. He had to satisfy himself with her claim that she had merely been walking and sitting in the garden all that time. Wrapped in her black shawl and in a black skirt, she was hardly visible, she said. He did not believe her.

María Pérez welcomed the captain warmly and asked him if he would like tea. He accepted and sat down next to Margarita as he had done the previous evening. Her mother then told him that she was very interested in his travels. "Could you tell us where you traveled to in Italy besides Venice and Rome?" she asked.

"I was in Naples for a few weeks," Francisco told her. "It was during the time of a popular holiday and I was at the piazza of the palace of King Ferdinand, the brother of His Majesty, Carlos IV. The holiday is actually a Royal procession which celebrates the victory of the Neapolitan and Spanish armies over the Austrians at the battle of Velletri. In honor of this day, all the available troops of the kingdom, usually around twenty thousand or more, are marched into the city and before the Royal family in the piazza of the palace. Then they proceed to line the streets from the palace to the Church of Pieddigrotta. At about four in the afternoon, His Majesty and the Royal family in all their carriages, set out in procession through these lines of the soldiery. They are attended by Ministers of State, the great officers of the Court, and flying footmen. The uniforms of the soldiers are bright and colorful. Each prince drives in his own carriage. The coachmen and footmen wear powdered wigs, but no hats, as in the Spanish tradition. After attending to devotions at the Church of Piedigrotta, the Royal Family returns to the palace, all in the same order. The rest of the day is a celebration by thousands of peasants from all over the countryside who wear gaily-colored clothing and who are happy to attend all such festive events. Despite all the pageantry, I loved seeing the collections of art there that one may compare even more favorably than those of France."

"Were you in France, too?" Margarita asked. "Did you see such things in Paris?"

"I remember on a trip to Paris, just before the revolution, seeing the Duke of Orleans Palace. It had an incredible collection of paintings – mainly from the School of Titian. The longer you stare at a painting of his, the more you admire it because of all the detail. There were numerous sculptures and other antiquities, from the Head of Parthian engraved in stone to the Head of Hannibal in Onyx. We went to the Luxembourg and the King’s Museum with their marvelous collection of art paintings of Rubens, rare gems, and many curiosities of the natural world. Despite all this, I loved Italy the best because of the people’s candor and true good nature. In Italy were to be found the finest English, Scottish and Prussian painters as well. There was a gallery in Rome where you could meet the artists and see their works. Famous painters like Jacob More, Gavin Hamilton and Jacob-Philippe Hackert did fabulous landscapes and decorated the palaces of princes and other notables. At Saint Peter’s in Montorio we saw Raphael’s famous ‘The Ascension.’ At the Convent of Santa María delle Grazie in Milan was the painting of ‘The Last Supper’ by Da Vinci. It is an amazing painting, for it covers the whole end of the room of the refectory."

By then even Sebastian began to believe that De las Fuentes had actually been to all the places he described. "I hear that the old Roman ruins are to be visited," he remarked.

"That is true," responded Francisco. "Most intoxicating of all were the hikes, natural scenery and places of antiquity to be seen, although the old structures have often fallen into great disrepair. After viewing such mild scenic falls at Tivoli in the Sabine Hills near the ruins of Hadrian’s Villa – that was an ancient retreat for Roman poets - we became more ambitious. The apex of our achievements was climbing up to see Mount Vesuvius and the environs of Naples. It erupted quite often, more with show than with substance, but it sent the tourists scrambling down the sides in great fear for their lives. As a matter of fact, a group that came after ours had to flee when it engaged in a minor eruption. How amazing it was to peer down into what is called ‘the yawning volcano’ with its mists and mysterious folds. We men liked to travel the mountain trails ourselves, but many would travel by coach and then be carried in a _chaise a porteurs_. The mountain precipices were beautiful as well as frightening. There is nothing like traveling which is the road to enlightenment."

"I, too, would like to travel some day," Margarita said enthusiastically. "The world sounds like a wondrous place."

"Traveling abroad is good for the mind," he told her. "It gives us perspective in order to inspect, compare and analyze. Those who are kings or princes need to do this especially, for often their lives are overly protected and their minds can become as small as the rooms they occupy. We become more civil and sensible the more we see of the world. To converse with men of science, literary accomplishment, or of wit is a fulfilling journey. To exchange with all classes makes us wiser whether we convene conversations with kings, mechanics, farmers or artists. Either way, we gain. As a matter of fact, most enlightened men will admit that practical needs, such as the applied sciences, modern languages, and manual skills are glaringly absent in our education overall."

"I disapprove of the idea of women traveling," Sebastian interrupted. "It gives them all the wrong ideas and makes them dissatisfied with their role in life. I would hardly want a Spanish ‘bluestocking’ in this family. You need to give up such foolish ideas, Margarita."

Margarita flushed in anger at his words as her mother clasped her hands to her breast in dismay at this outburst. Why did her husband keep on attacking his eldest daughter so?

Francisco watched Margarita’s reaction and he turned toward her, taking her shaking hand into his own right hand and smoothing it with his other. He decided that as a guest in their home, he would employ the diplomatic expression of dismay. He gave Pérez a disapproving look. "Life is truly full of vigor and intellectual wonder if one will open one’s mind to it and the wondrous people who live in the world and its sundry provinces," he commented. "This is true for men as well as for women."

Pérez grunted in reply and looked up at the servant as the elderly Martín made a timely entrance into the room. He carried a pewter tray with a carafe of wine, two wine glasses and a pot of tea. "Here is a fresh pot of hot tea, Doña María. I trust the first was satisfactory?"

"Yes, Martín, thank you," María answered, grateful for the interruption. "I’m so glad you brought the wine. Don Sebastian thought our guest would enjoy a bottle from Spain even though we have very good local wine."

"Yes, I would," De las Fuentes responded. "That is most thoughtful of you." He placed a hand on Margarita’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. Her mother watched as she gave him a grateful smile.

Martín began to pour a glass for both of the men. "I also have some fresh confections. Would you like me to bring them out, Señora?"

"Yes, please do," the woman answered. She wrung her hands despite the letup in tension.

There was a sudden knock at the door. "I’ll get it," Sebastian Pérez insisted, leaving the room. He went to the front door and opened it. Outside stood Salvador Muñoz. He was holding a guitar in his hands. "Good evening, Salvador," he said. "What took you so long? I thought you had decided not to come." He looked at the instrument in the man’s hands. "What do you have in your hands? I thought you did not know how to play a guitar."

"I don’t," replied the younger man softly. "Is De las Fuentes here?"

"As expected," muttered Pérez. "What did you have in mind?"

"To call his bluff, of course," smirked Salvador. "Let me put it in the front hall until I need it."

"Good thinking," replied Sebastian. In a louder voice he said, "You are just in time, Salvador. Wine is being served in the sala."

******************

She wasted no time in sitting down at the piano and arranged the musical scores in front of her. She wiped her hands on her skirt to dry them from her nervousness and looked up at the Spanish officer with a smile. "Ismaida, Juanita, and I practice together here or at Ismaida’s," she told him. "I hope you will like this. Can you tell me if you know it?" She placed her hands on the keys and began.

The piece completely changed the mood of the room. It was light and playful. De las Fuentes watched her hands glide expertly over the keys, giving emphasis at the right time, and sensitivity throughout. _Mozart_ , he thought, _would have been pleased_. She looked up at him and smiled as she played - just as Isabel used to do. She did not even look away from him when her father and Salvador Muñoz entered the room.

Salvador placed himself at the other end of the piano opposite the officer who nodded politely to him. Salvador stared at the young woman until the song ended. When it did, he startled her by applauding and saying "Bravo, Margarita. Your playing is excellent."

She turned toward him. "And what is the name of the piece I just played, Señor Muñoz?" She smiled in great amusement at his silence. She turned back toward the officer. "You know, don’t you, Francisco?"

He nodded. "Mozart’s ‘Rondo alla turca,’ a charming piece. Some of his music expressed an almost boyish wonder and sense of fun, enticing us to marvel at the simple and joyful moments of life. His music was not at all simple, of course, but did convey his own gift for making it seem that way. He wrote over two dozen piano concertos."

"I can play the opening bars of his ‘Rondo in A minor’ for piano," she said, "from memory."

"Please do so," he responded with enthusiasm. When she finished, De las Fuentes remarked to Muñoz, "This is one of the noblest works Mozart wrote for the instrument. Bravo, Margarita, and bravo again for a lovely performance."

"You mentioned this afternoon that you could play some piano," Salvador began aggressively, staring at the blue and white uniformed officer only a few feet away. "Let’s see how you do - compared to Margarita, of course."

Margarita looked up at Francisco in alarm. She understood what Muñoz’s motive was, but the officer only smiled.

"Very well," he assented, "but I did warn you that I have not practiced in a while." He waited until Margarita rose and took her hand lightly to help her move away from the seat. "Pardon me a moment," he continued and removed his scabbard and saber from his belt. He presented them to Muñoz who took them silently.

Francisco de las Fuentes sat down at the piano, rather ceremoniously flipping his blue and red coattails loose behind the seat. He was silent and thought a moment. Margarita leaned close to him and whispered, "You don’t have to do this, Francisco."

"It’s all right, dear," he responded in his deep baritone.

The house was quiet until his hands touched the keyboard. He looked up to the scenic painting on the wall over the piano and mused, "I used to play this one quite often, so I shouldn’t need to practice it much." He turned to Margarita and smiled "Now it’s your turn to guess." And he began to play. The tune was slower than the one she had played, but its style was unmistakable. His right hand did most of the work while the left supplied the supporting and complementing accompaniment.

As he played, Margarita’s expression changed from one of apprehension to one of triumph. Her eyes shone. She had not expected him to play so well. As a matter of fact, his piano playing greatly surpassed her wildest expectations. When he finished and looked up with a twinkle in his eyes, she gushed "I thought you said you only played ‘a little’."

She looked around the room - at Muñoz, at her father, and to her mother. "Wasn’t that marvelous?" Her mother smiled happily for her sake. Her father appeared a bit stunned. Salvador looked quite sour. She put her arms around the small man’s shoulders and pressed her face to his cheek a moment and then pulled back. "That was wonderful, Francisco, simply wonderful." She beamed.

"Ah," he responded, pleased to invoke such delight in her, "now what was the piece?"

"I’ve heard it before," interrupted Salvador, jealous and irritated at her open demonstration of affection for the officer, "but I don’t remember the composer."

"It’s Beethoven - his Minuet in G," Margarita explained. She turned back to Francisco. "I recall you said that you heard him play in person and even spoke to him."

"Yes, I did," he replied. "You remember very well."

Something banged at the door jam and Margarita and Francisco looked over toward the entrance of the sala to see Salvador re-enter the room. In his hands he held a guitar that was the source of the noise. The officer winced as if struck a body blow when he saw the beautiful guitar handled so carelessly. He looked up at the younger man who extended the guitar to him with one hand.

"What can you tell me about this guitar?" Salvador asked brusquely. "It belongs to a friend of mine."

The comandante rose and took the guitar from Muñoz with both hands, ignoring the man’s rudeness. He looked it over carefully, turning it over and examining it minutely. He smiled as he walked over to his chair opposite María Pérez and sat down. Margarita joined him. As he cradled the instrument in his lap, his hands practically caressed the wood with its inlaid and finely painted floral designs. "This is a very fine instrument," he commented, "although a bit neglected." His hands strummed softly while he tightened or loosened each string appropriately. "Implore its owner to get some new strings."

"Do you play this as well?" asked Sebástian in surprise.

"A little," he replied. "I know a few old-fashioned pieces that my father and mother enjoy."

"I love old-fashioned things," María piped up and smiled at her daughter who looked so proud of the small man’s talents.

"This piece would be best presented by dual guitars," he said as if talking to himself. "Nevertheless, let’s see what it can do." The melody was lighter than the piano piece and moved rapidly. Margarita watched the fingers of his left hand move up and down the neck of the guitar while the fingers of his right hand plucked at the strings. The piece was short, only over two minutes. "Handel’s Fugue in G" he commented as he finished. He then launched into another piece. "This is of more recent vintage." It was also more versatile and playful and he smiled into Margarita’s eyes as he played. "Its repetitiveness makes it an easy piece to remember." He played on, seemingly with his own variations. He finished with two more short pieces, one only over a minute and the other much longer, and started a third, then a fourth as if really enjoying playing. "My tribute to those who prefer the Spanish –Italian style," he said humorously as he continued. "A short piece by Marella, his Rondo ‘from Suite Number One.’ The last one was by Soler, his Sonata in D minor."

When he finished, his small audience applauded in appreciation, even Pérez and Muñoz clapped, though reluctantly. De las Fuentes stood up and handed the guitar back to Salvador. "Your friend is most fortunate, Señor Muñoz. I would like to hear him play, for the owner of such an instrument must undoubtedly be discerning."

"He’s a very old man here in Los Angeles," Salvador remarked rather indifferently.

"What is his name?" asked the comandante. "I should like to make his acquaintance."

"Don José Mario Escobedo," answered the young man. "But he probably hasn’t played it in a while. He’s getting senile."

"Music is for all ages," De las Fuentes commented. "Señor Escobedo may be losing his recent memories, but music is forever and he will love it no matter how old he gets."

"What was the second piece?" asked Margarita. "All of them were delightful, Francisco."

"Ah, Scarlatti, Sonata in E," he responded. "Thank you, dear. My younger brother plays quite well. I used to practice with him. We would conduct a ‘duel’ of guitars with an older cousin. We were absolute fanatics in our practice and wished to win our grandfather’s favor. He was a most accomplished musician in his own right and directed my father and us children. He knew many talented musicians and had them tutor us at various intervals." He paused. "As a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you where you learned piano so well. With whom have you studied?"

"I play with Ismaida. Her parents come from a musical family and her father taught her piano," she told him. "When I was little I began playing with her older sister and brother who all play. Her father has helped us. Aside from that, it has just been me by myself. Señor Rodriguez works with me twice a week. He is very enthusiastic and his wife plays the harp which she learned from her mother."

Sebastian was very bored with all the chatter. "Let’s switch the topic from music, shall we? The rest of us are rather uninitiated in these matters. Why don’t you let Salvador enter into this conversation?"

"My apologies, Señor," Francisco said. "It was not my intention to exclude anyone from our discussion. Please feel welcome to join our discourse at any time. Perhaps Señor Muñoz has an interest in philosophical ideas, the natural sciences, or even architectural design?"

Salvador looked stumped for a moment. He glanced at the painting over the piano and said, "Well, I like looking at paintings," he began.

"Ah, an excellent endeavor," De las Fuentes smiled. "So, how would you compare the artistic styles of Goya, Tiepolo, and Mengs?" he asked. "I found their applications of pigments for frescos, not to mention their contrast in subject matter, quite imaginative."

"Uh, well, I know who they are," Salvador began. "They painted the Royal families and other portraits of members of the aristocracy. Tiepolo and Mengs were foreigners."

"That is true," Francisco continued. "Goya painted the portraits of Carlos III and the family of Carlos IV, along with portraits of his current Majesty, Ferdinand. All three of them did frescos for churches and the royal residences. Giovanni Tiepolo, who was Italian, decorated the Throne Room of the Royal Palace in Madrid. His specialty was depicting scenes from antiquity, such as the ‘Capture of Carthage’ or depictions of Venus, Mars, Neptune and Mercury, griffins, humanlike lions, and doves. In the throne room he created a vast allegorical, ‘The Apotheosis of the Spanish Monarchy’. There was much theatricality and grandeur in his subject matter. He was exuberant and imaginative. He loved color and the illusion of motion. He was a master at the use of light to accentuate the dramatic features of his paintings. He used lighter pigments to create an illusion of playful or imaginary scenes. His paintings can also be found in Milan, Bergamo and Vicenza as well as in Wúrzburg. He did portraits on canvas as well as drawings."

Everyone else in the room was silent. The mother looked interested, Margarita enchanted, Salvador nonplussed, and Sebastian irritated at having nothing to say.

The comandante was in his element. "Anton Mengs was from Bohemia and worked in Dresden and Rome. He painted the famous fresco Parnassus as a decoration for the Villa Albani. He was also commissioned by His Majesty Carlos III to do paintings and he became far more popular than Tiepolo, though only God knows why. Poor Tiepolo ran afoul of the King’s confessor who denounced his paintings in a church near the Aranjuez palace as course and pagan. Tiepolo was then replaced by Mengs whose very different style paled in comparison, although he was very precise and deft in his work. He was a perfectionist and would work on a portrait long after most people considered the product finished. He spent many of his early years at the Vatican and understood what was required of him. He supervised Francisco de Goya at the royal tapestry factory, the Santa Barbara, in Madrid. When he died he was buried in the Pantheon."

"Goya studied in Italy, copying the worst and the best, as all art students do. He has done frescos in churches and monasteries. He dislikes landscapes and painting animals. Painting styles changed and he changed with them, the mark of a successful artist. He went from painting religious subjects to hunting scenes, picnics and the like. He had good contacts and advanced through a mixture of opportunism and good fortune. He was commissioned to paint the Conde de Floridablanca who was not particularly pleased with the results. It took Goya almost a year to get the payment for the portrait. Not everybody thought it was the greatest art and it isn’t."

"You don’t sound too impressed with a man who is considered Spain’s greatest artist," Sebastian rebuked him.

"Ah, in order to judge art, one must have a basis of comparison," the officer replied. "Even the Academy of Arts said that the colors he uses are not true to life. But colors aside, if you have ever seen the works of Jacques Louis David or the Englishman, Sir Joshua Reynolds, his contemporaries, there would be no comparison. If he would have taken my commission, I would much prefer a Reynolds portrait to one by Goya."

"You would doubt an artist chosen by both King Carlos as well as by His Majesty, our Ferdinand?" Sebastian continued on the offensive.

"You don’t know His Majesty," commented Francisco. "Goya may have painted his portraits, but Ferdinand only tolerates Goya. The Inquisition had him arrested in 1815 for past sins. He barely escaped with his skin. His Majesty told him that he deserved to be garroted, but decided to pardon him because he was a great painter. Goya is a good cartoonist, but his works could be more inspired, less coarse. Carlos IV, sad to say, had no basis of comparison and took the least road of resistance in determining an artist for official favors. I suppose the best thing I can say about Goya is that he is bold to paint people as he sees them. Most people are flattered just to have a portrait and they look more at the exact portrayal of their dress, wigs, sashes, jewels, and other possessions rather than at their own depiction. If Queen María Luisa had had any artistic sense, she would have jailed Goya for his portraits of her."

Margarita burst out laughing, shaking her head. Her father frowned as she covered her mouth with her hand.

"But many people, even famous people, have had Goya paint their portraits," insisted Sebastian.

"That is true, but they have no more sense than the rest," Francisco explained. "Look, you need to understand something. If the king has his portrait painted, why, then all the sycophants line up after him and commission the same artist to do their portrait. Why do they do this? Because the artist is good? Not at all. They do it solely because _His Majesty_ used the artist. He named him Painter to the King. His excellence or lack of it is never questioned. Ah, it’s quite a boon for the artist. Much of Goya’s work borders on the primitive. He isn’t even very original. I suspect that if someone in the future were to research his technique, he would find that Goya has copied every master from Velásquez to Raphael, not to mention Mengs, and of course, the mediocrities. How sad, that after all these years, he still has not developed much imagination."

"You seem very opinionated, Capitán," Señor Pérez commented as if to end the conversation.

"My opinions, like my use of the blade, are based upon extensive experience, Señor Pérez," Francisco remarked easily. "I do not take either one lightly, but give much time and reflection into their formulation and use. Opinion needs to be based upon facts, not on whims or fancies of the moment. When one has studied the subject matter extensively, then one is entitled to be opinionated."

Margarita was smiling. She was exuberant. She loved how "her captain" handled both men. She had never seen anyone ever do it with the calm and skill that Francisco de las Fuentes did and she admired him even more than ever. "That’s exactly how I feel about music," she declared. She saw the disapproving looks from her father and Salvador that her comment generated. Her mother looked petrified. Only the small officer in blue and white nodded in approval at her words. She continued. "It is also how artists and composers judge each other - and learn from each other, if they are willing to learn, and the great ones do learn from each other, don’t they? I can’t help but recall your story about Mozart and Beethoven."

"This is true," he acknowledged, turning toward her. "It may amuse you to know, however, that artists are among the most opinionated people in the world. When they bask in royal favor too long, they begin to think of themselves as immortal as the gods they paint. Most either are, or become, consummate actors, feigning affectations, airs, and are often insufferably arrogant. One might almost forgive Goya, though, as he was practically deaf by 1800."

"’Almost?’" she teased.

"Almost, but not quite. He never learned anything other than to satisfy popular whim," Francisco responded. "I find musicians, however, much more amendable." He gave her a wink. "Once they stop composing for royal favor and become independent of sponsors, they write the kind of music that pleases them as artists. To continuously subordinate one’s creativity to masters other than themselves, they become enslaved. I hope that in the future we will find kings who will enact laws where the state pays for musicians and artists so that they may give full reign to their talents and not fear for their health or their heads."

"They should have to earn their way," commented Salvador, looking disdainfully at the officer. "Let them sell their products and if they succeed or fail, that is their reward."

"As you do, Señor Muñoz?" asked Francisco with mock irony. "It may be all fine and well for those born to money, but most artists and musicians are born with the misfortune of belonging to the lower classes. They have no means to buy even the canvases to paint or the paper upon which to compose. Why should they be forced to prostitute themselves to those with money? How many thousands have died without anyone ever knowing of their talent and being inspired by it? I came across a young boy during the War of Liberation who drew in charcoal on pieces of scrap wood. His name was Juan. We found him in a hovel. His mother told us that he seemed to have a natural talent for drawing but that they had no means of helping him further the great pleasure he took in drawing. The poor lad was illiterate, his parents dirt poor. Had he survived the war I believe I would have guided him into the hands of an artist. The poor boy died at the age of fourteen of starvation and disease. There was nothing we could do for him. It was too late. I wish I could convey to you the great sadness I felt as I looked over the scraps his mother showed me. I can only say that I took his hand in mine and told him that he was a fine artist. If it helped his last moments, then I am grateful."

The room was silent. "That’s a very sad story," María sighed. "We’re very fortunate in comparison to them."

"I would like to show you one of these pieces that his mother gave me on that day. I kept one for myself in his memory and turned the others over to a friend in the Royal Academy of Arts."

"I would like to see it, Francisco," Margarita said softly. "We should have a sensitivity to the sufferings of others instead of being wrapped up in our own closed world of comfort. It traps us."

"I’m glad not to have to worry about all that here in California," commented Salvador. "Let’s talk of less serious things, shall we?"

"Certainly," nodded the officer. "Since philosophy and the arts do not seem to be your forté, would you like to discuss the recent explorations to the lands of the infidels , for example, to Mecca, or perhaps the search for the Northwest Passage? How about the installation of gas lights in the city of London or the recent invention of the Fire Extinguisher by the English?" His eyebrows were raised in expectation and his manner was like a teacher trying to encourage a shy student to speak up.

When his questions invoked no immediate response, the officer continued. "We live in an astonishing century, Señor. In the last one hundred years our view of the world has changed in amazing ways especially in the natural sciences, vitalism, medicine, instrumentation, mathematics and methods of travel. Does the invention of the stethoscope capture your imagination? How about the technological advances in breech-loading rifles or steam-powered warships? The Hobby Horse? Now there's a bit of fun! Have you seen one before? The Prussians patented it already. How about the discovery of Chlorophyll in plants? Literature? Poetry? No? What are your interests? Let's hear your views."

"Why should we not speak of fashion, card games, or business?" the younger man replied at last in an irritated manner. "Most people enjoy such amusements."

"Ah," responded Francisco thoughtfully. "I suppose there is something to be said about such games. His Majesty spends an inordinate amount of time playing cards and billiards. I prefer subjects of substance because it expands our facilities rather than atrophies them. Tell me, have you ever seen a hot-air balloon? It was a French invention and caused quite a sensation in Paris. The masses thronged to see it. Bonaparte used it for military observation purposes. We never had anything like it in our army. If people traveled more and paid attention to inventions in other lands, what we couldn’t do to improve the lives of everyone. Could you imagine people traveling in hot air balloons as they now do in stagecoaches? How far we could travel in so short a time, and without all the potholes in the roads."

Salvador fumed while Margarita was thrilled at everything the officer had to say. Finally, unable to speak on anything of substance, Muñoz left in a huff. He was so rankled at his inability to compete with the officer, that he forgot the guitar.

Sebastian sat in silence, practically overwhelmed by the thoughts and images conveyed in the captain’s conversations. It was true that the image of people traveling in hot air balloons sparked his own thoughts, but that was not the point. His entire plan to make Salvador the center of attention had fallen apart. He was beginning to recognize that the captain was a formidable opponent in dealing with his daughter. But Sebastian was determined that money, not personal happiness, would be the key to his financial ambitions. Salvador was the fifth son of a prosperous merchant and although he did not have much in his own right, just the family connections alone would mean a great deal. Perez saw no profit from any relation with a man like Francisco de las Fuentes. Well, he would begin phase two of his plan to cement his relationship with the Muñoz family and he would not let this eccentric officer stand in his way. It was almost midnight before he closed the door on the officer and began to berate his daughter for her open display of affection for him in front of Salvador. Another argument ensued and she went to bed in tears. It would not be the last of them.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 14](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante14.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	14. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Fourteen

El Zorro was not bored in his arboreal perch high in the tree. From his hiding place, the man in black watched as, earlier, the street patrol swept by with their torches. He spotted a few passersby as well. He watched as Salvador Muñoz arrived, holding the guitar by the neck and passing through the gate. While he did not hear the conversation between the two men at the door, El Zorro had the feeling that the campaign against Margarita was still going on. He suspected that Salvador would actually gain financially by marrying Margarita, even though his own family was better off.

From the Pérez household he heard the playing of the piano - he recognized Margarita’s style - as well as the guitar playing. He knew that neither Don Sebastian nor the haughty Salvador Muñoz played any musical instruments at all. Could it possibly have been Capitán de las Fuentes?

Suddenly, the front door to the Pérez home opened and Salvador Muñoz appeared. Pérez said a few words to him on the way out, but Zorro could tell the young man was infuriated. As he neared the street gate, Muñoz paused and looked back at the house. "You pompous, over-educated aristocrat," he said aloud angrily. "I’ve had it with your condescending ways!" He left through the gate, slamming it shut.

El Zorro heard every word and it was not hard to guess what kind of impression Francisco de las Fuentes must have made on the card-playing, gambling son of Don Felix Muñoz. He must have been completely overwhelmed. No one in all of Los Angeles could possibly compete with the prince, let alone impress a Margarita who was quite taken by him. El Zorro had no regrets over this because personally he did not care for Salvador. The man’s parents were nice, but not too interested in culture or education. Salvador’s major disadvantage, Zorro thought, was that he had no interest in becoming more polished, and it was for this reason, among others, that he held no appeal to a lady like Margarita who did. He was fighting a losing battle.

It was about an hour later, and just before the midnight curfew, that Capitán de las Fuentes appeared at the open door. The door was crowded as he departed. Standing there was Margarita, who looked very happy, Señora Pérez who smiled at his kissing of her hand, and Sebastian Pérez who looked relieved that the officer was leaving.

"Come back and see us again soon, Don Francisco," Margarita called as the officer departed. He turned and bowed once again before opening the gate and departing.

El Zorro was about to leave his perch when he heard Pérez begin berating his daughter even before he closed the front door. The young man shook his head, then lightly slipped down through the branches and made his way silently along the high stone wall that ran along the street and connected to the neighbor’s home. The trees, bushes and shrubs helped conceal him and he watched the officer, who was only a block or so ahead of him, make his way slowly back to the cuartel.

When the wall came to an end, El Zorro alighted from its high perch down to the street. He made his way in the shadows thinking that he had been overly apprehensive for the officer’s safety since the escape of Enríquez. Then he noticed it ahead – a figure wrapped in a dark cloak and broad slouched hat emerging from a side street. Zorro pressed himself up against the wall before the figure could look in his direction. He was skilled at blending in with the shadows and he began to follow the stranger more closely. Zorro’s steps were Indian-like, quiet and unheard, unlike those of the man who was a few yards ahead of him. When De las Fuentes turned down a street, the figure ahead did the same. El Zorro understood at once that the officer was being followed and he drew up very close to the figure in the dark. Further ahead, the street torches provided greater visibility and if the stranger intended to shoot at the officer, he would have a silhouetted target.

Suddenly the figure halted. From inside the cloak he took out a pistol and began to raise it, pointing towards De las Fuentes. El Zorro was upon him in a moment, seizing the arm with one hand, forcing it down, and twisting the pistol out of the grip of the man with another. The man was very surprised but resisted. He aimed a blow at El Zorro’s head but missed and fell with his own momentum. With the pistol safely in his own grasp, El Zorro knelt down to subdue the man further.

Up ahead, Francisco de las Fuentes halted momentarily and looked back behind him, turning in response to an unusual sound. He had been thinking about Margarita. He didn’t much care for the Pérez family but Margarita was definitely worth the trouble. She was a flower in a garden of weeds, he thought, a star glimpsed on a cloudy night. He smiled at a thought: no wonder she could not stand Salvador Muñoz. He would just be a younger version of her father – ignorant and close-minded. No wonder she felt like a bird trapped in a cage.

The street behind him was quite dark and he did not see the two struggling dark figures in black up against the side of the road behind him. He instinctively put his hand on the hilt of his sword and listened a moment. He was not far from the cuartel and had only a few more minutes to get back before he would be in violation of the curfew himself. And that would never do. He resumed his journey towards the plaza and to the sentries on duty in front of the garrison.

When the officer was out of hearing, Zorro turned to the man and hauled him up from the ground. "It is not wise to try to assassinate the only decent comandante that Los Angeles has ever had, Señor," he told the dark figure. "And I will not allow you to harm such a man. What kind of a criminal would do that? – unless he was mad. Are you such a madman? Just who are you, Señor?"

He was just about to remove the hat from the man’s head and discover his identity, when suddenly, a nearby door opened and loud voices were heard. Three men emerged who were in a rush to be gone. "Hurry or you will be caught violating curfew," a woman’s voice called to them. They headed in his direction.

The stranger in Zorro’s grasp took advantage of the diversion, twisted out of his grasp and fled on foot. El Zorro darted around the corner and sought to follow the sound of running feet. He suddenly realized he no longer heard the man and thought he must either have found a refuge or made good his escape down one of the numerous alleyways nearby. Unwilling to be caught out on the street by the regular patrols or be seen by the approaching trio, he made his way back to the secret hiding place where Tornado waited for him. He would need to be back in town over the next several days to appraise the situation and to find out all that he could about how the search for Enríquez was going. While the army would be searching for him in the countryside, Zorro was convinced that Enríquez had never left Los Angeles. He had sworn to recover the stolen items taken from him. He had threatened to take the life of anyone who tried to get them back. And perhaps, just by accident, El Zorro lost the escaped prisoner within his very grasp.

*****************

He was riding down the wide dirt road on a sunny day and there was a parade going past him in the opposite direction. He saw a large number of people that he knew, from the king and his ministers, to several generals in the army’s high command. And mixed in with them was a herd of sheep and goats, camp followers and assorted rude people. He knew that he was going in the right direction because he could see the church in the distance, but everyone else was headed in the other direction. He attempted to hail one of his former aides, "I say there, Machado, the wedding is at the church - over there. Where is everyone going?" He even called out to the king this time. But he was ignored. _Being ignored is better than being scoured_ , he thought. _Strange, how_ _I’ve seen all this before_. And wasn’t it odd that a few of the people actually looked at him but it was more like they were looking through him.

Why is it that I always feel like Don Quixote but without my Sancho Panza?

He continued riding towards the church. It seemed deserted at first, but then he heard the voices of children. _I know they are in the graveyard playing games with the dog that talks_ , he thought. He rode his horse up to a hitching post and dismounted in front of the church. He walked up the steps and heard a piano playing inside. He tried to open the great ironbound oak doors by pulling on them, but they would not budge. He banged on one of them with his fist, but only heard the music playing from inside. He sighed and headed back down the stairs and around the side to the back of the church where the graveyard was. The children and animals were playing, but off in another meadow. He barely noticed a long bare table in the yard. Then he saw her – his Isabel. She was standing on the back steps of the church with the man in the mask. Both turned and walked into the church and it looked more like the front of the church than it did the back. He ran up the stairs after them and he did not limp at all although he knew that he was crippled.

Inside the church it was dark with light streaming down from the glass-stained windows far above and he caught sight of all the saints looking down on him. They appeared so solemn and serene, he thought. When he looked toward the altar, he saw a great piano and someone was playing a song he did not recognize. There was no one inside the church except himself and the player. He went up to the piano and it was a woman dressed in blue silk. When he leaned over to look at her face bent over the keys, he saw that it was Isabel. She looked up at him and smiled as she had always smiled when he stood next to her and watched her hands move over the keys. He looked out over the piano and saw that they were no longer in church, but in a bright room with wrought iron covered windows. There was a woman sitting in the corner drinking tea. She did not look up.

When he turned back to Isabel, she looked up at him again, but it was no longer Isabel. It was Margarita. "Margarita," he exclaimed. "What are you doing here in church?" He looked around. "I want you to meet someone very dear to me," he told her. He looked up and saw Isabel walking toward him. She was carrying sheets of music. Without a word, she sat down at the piano and began to play. Both of them played and it was a confusion until the two separate tunes became one. He stood there listening and began to weep because he felt a great loss, although he could not explain it to himself or the fact that the two of them were there playing beautiful music together and smiling at him.

He heard knocking at a door and thought that someone was pounding on the front doors of the church and he did not want to walk to the doors and open them. He wanted to stay and talk to Isabel and Margarita. There was so much to tell them. But the pounding at the door got louder. Then someone touched his shoulder and it felt very real. He opened his eyes and sat up with a start. He gave a big sigh as he saw that he was in bed in the cuartel in the pueblo of Los Angeles and it had been just another dream. He listened and heard the knocking. It was not knocking at all, but someone hammering on something in the street outside his window. Perhaps someone was fixing a broken down cart. He blinked. It was daylight. He propped up the pillow and leaned back on it wondering what the dream meant. He put his hand up to his forehead and felt confused. Then it occurred to him. He had slept the entire night!

********************

The horses’ hooves pounded along the narrow dirt road early that morning as Sergeant García headed toward the furthest ranch that Joaquín Enríquez had been known to work at just a few months before. He had been to the Rodriguez rancho twenty minutes before to inquire about any sightings of the man whom some deemed a ‘madman.’ There was nothing to report.

Capitán de las Fuentes had detailed Corporal Reyes with another group of men to check by at the De la Vega hacienda and to check at yet another spot where Enríquez had been known to frequent, but their results had been no better.

García stopped by an ancient shack he spotted, but the men reported no one in the area. He did not know that the sound of approaching horses had warned the temporary inhabitant of their coming long before they reached the shack. From his lookout from amongst the rocks, Joaquín Enríquez watched the fat sergeant look around somewhat aimlessly. Enríquez had been wise not to keep any of his belongings in a place that might be easily found. He had found a hiding place among the rocks. He only stayed in the shack at night when it was cold outside and the walls provided protection, though not too much warmth, against the cool winds. He watched the soldiers talking to each other and looking out into the brush after walking along the ground as if searching for footprints. He became suspicious of how long they seemed to be lingering, but only a few minutes later, they rode off. Enríquez would have to work fast. Once the soldiers were gone, there would be a false sense of security among the rancheros and that is when he would strike.

Enríquez sat waiting among the rocks knowing that the soldiers could return at any time. They had headed south, not north and it would not be safe for him to return to the shack until they had headed back toward the pueblo of Los Angeles. He sat amongst the rocks, enjoying the sun. He chewed on a piece of dry grass and thought about his conversations with the comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes. The fellow seems a little obsessed with witches and possession, he thought. _Even I don’t believe that rubbish. Everyone had his issues and I have my own as well. I wonder if his pain is as deep-seated as mine_. He had never discussed his past with anyone except the officer and he was astonished to learn of De las Fuentes’ banishment by the king. That was pretty rotten, he thought, but not half so rotten as being deliberately crippled. _I’ve recovered from the beatings I got, but this man is scarred for life. But then, he doesn’t get my attacks_. It was odd how he felt a sense of trust in the man especially after the prince had told him what had happened to him and to his fiancée. He thought that he would never feel sympathy for anyone else, but he did for this man. _I suppose I pity him because I sympathize with his plight. I suppose I like him because despite what was done to him, he never takes out his pain on others. I can’t do anything for him; I have my own troubles, my dual nature. Yet, the soldiers are out looking for me_. The officer would have to do his duty and re-arrest him, but Enríquez was determined not to be taken by the soldiers. He had learned that Capitán Monastario would return and he knew that there would be a noose waiting for him once De las Fuentes departed. It would be wise to accomplish his own mission in the few days he had left before this officer’s departure. Time waited for no man.

***************************

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes had almost reached the church for his daily prayers when he noticed a group of ladies lingering outside the church doors. He had seen the elder two women at church before and knew they were the "regulars." They were watching his leisurely approach and talking with each other. As he neared, all five of them curtsied low and chorused "Good morning, Your Excellency."

He doffed his hat and gave an exaggerated bow of his own. "Good morning, dear Ladies. May this good day bring a smile to your lips and happiness to your hearts." The women tittered and were titillated at his greeting.

They remained bowing until he proceeded through the church doors and, after genuflection, took up his place in the back pews. He noticed that they did not follow him into church but remained outside. It seemed like back in Spain, he thought, in the days long before his departure. He turned his thoughts elsewhere and began to pray that all the decisions he would make regarding Joaquín Enríquez would be the right ones. He wanted to give the man the chance to redeem himself and to find out what caused him to behave the way he did. He wanted to see Margarita Pérez again as well. He had thought about her all morning and was convinced that the magical way she played the piano was helping to break the evil spells cast on him by his unknown enemies. No, it was more than that – it was the playing of music by the both of them together that created the spiritual link that allowed this to happen. If he slept again this night, he would know it was a sign. He was grateful.

Quite a crowd had gathered outside the church and there was a low murmuring of voices, uncharacteristic of the daily routine of attendance. Padre Felipe had just departed from his office when the sound reached his ears and he made his way to the front of the building.

"Good morning, Padre Felipe," the crowd greeted him as he rounded the corner. Many bowed to him.

"Blessings upon you all," he replied with a smile. "My, what is going on here?"

"Haven’t you heard, Padre?" one of the elderly ladies, Señora Vidrio, asked. "His Excellency has come to church. He is here now. He comes every day."

"Which Excellency is that?" Felipe inquired.

"Why, the prince," answered another. "His Excellency, the Prince de las Fuentes."

"I did not know that there was a prince in our pueblo," he told them.

The group gathered around him all talking at once. "Padre Felipe, don’t you know that our comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes, is a prince?" asked a man, Roberto Vera. "Señor Pacheco says that he is a prince, a real Spanish prince. He says this is why Los Angeles has received justice. Is this true? Did His Majesty send him to us?"

Felipe decided to buy some time. "Let me speak with Señor Pacheco to see what he knows. Then we will see." He departed for the inn.

"He must be a prince," remarked Señora Vidrio, watching the priest cross the plaza. "Did you see how he bowed and the nice greeting he gave us? He is no common comandante, this one."

"My wife told me that he comes to church every day," Señor Vera commented. "Sometimes he stays for hours in the afternoon. He is very devout, the mark of a true prince."

"The mark of a true prince is his wisdom," another man spoke up. "Look at the judgments he rendered at the hearings. Mercy and justice – that is the mark of a true prince."

The conversation of the crowd rose to such a level that the noise even reached the ears of the worshippers inside the church. After a while, Capitán de las Fuentes, rose and departed from the church. It took him almost a half an hour to make the short walk across the plaza back to the cuartel. So many inhabitants of the pueblo greeted him and took his hand to kiss. He had to come up with a kind word for each of them. How in the name of all of the saints had they come to the conclusion that he was anyone other than the comandante?

*****************

Diego de la Vega and his father, Don Alejandro, had traveled to the pueblo in their open carriage, enjoying the warm winter sun. They were discussing the selling of cattle, the purchasing of supplies in town, and, of course, the party at the Rodriguez home that was scheduled for that evening.

Diego alighted from the carriage after his father and observed a crowd breaking up in front of the church. He thought that the crowd was fairly large for a non-Sunday event. He began to head over to find out what was going on when he heard someone call his name.

"Diego! Diego de la Vega," she called out.

Diego turned around and saw Margarita Pérez coming toward him with a smile. She was dressed in a light blue skirt with black trim and a flower-embroidered blouse.

"Margarita," he greeted her. "How are you?" He looked her over carefully. "Tell me, what is happening? Has the spring come early this year?"

She smiled up at him. "Hello, Diego." She looked down at herself a moment. "I guess I am dressing more cheerfully nowadays," she admitted. She looked around and whispered to him in a confidential voice. "If you must know the reason, it is that I have finally found the man I’ve always dreamed of."

"You have?" he affected surprise. "Now who could that be in this dusty old pueblo?"

She sighed. "Oh, Diego, don’t tease me. I really have found someone and he is more wonderful than I could ever have hoped for."

Diego looked impressed. "He must be, Margarita, to make you so happy." Then he whispered. "Can you tell me who he is?"

She smiled and lowered her voice to match his. "Well, it’s Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes," she gushed. "He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met and he understands me so well. He plays piano, guitar and other musical instruments. He admires my playing – he told me so himself - and we love the same composers and kinds of music. Oh, Diego, he’s so kind and well spoken. He’s traveled everywhere and is like a great scholar. He has the best manners and I could just listen to his voice for hours and never grow tired of it." She sighed again. "There’s just no one like him in all of California."

"Congratulations, Margarita," he told her sincerely. "I always knew that if you waited long enough, your patience would be rewarded."

"Thank you, Diego," she responded. "You’ve always been a good friend and I wanted you to be one of the first to know." She paused. "Francisco said yesterday he would be dining with you and your father last night. What did you think of him, Diego?"

Diego smiled. "I think I have met no finer gentleman than Don Francisco," he told her.

Margarita looked radiant at his words. "Just as I thought," she confirmed." Thank you so much, Diego. I feel that same way." She looked across the square. "Oh, I hope you’ll excuse me. I need to speak with Ismaida. Will you and your father be coming to the party tonight?"

"Yes, I will," he replied. "It is so nice to see you and, once again, congratulations." He waved as she departed. He sighed a little, happy for her and yet a little sad, too. _I hope it works out for her_ , he thought. _She is fighting against some great odds, some she probably isn’t aware of_. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned. It was Alejandro.

"Wasn’t that Margarita Pérez?" Alejandro asked in surprise. "I have not seen her dress so colorfully in ages. Is something going on that I don’t know about?"

"Father, Margarita has told me some very good news," Diego told him.

"And what is the news, my son?"

"Margarita told me that she has met the most wonderful man and that for the first time in her life she is in love," Diego replied.

Alejandro seemed pleasantly surprised. "I take it that it is not Salvador Muñoz," he laughed. "Who is the lucky man?"

"The man she is in love with is Capitán de las Fuentes," Diego answered.

Alejandro’s expression changed from mirth to seriousness. "Little Señorita Pérez is setting her standards pretty high, Diego. I doubt whether she has much of a chance. Capitán de las Fuentes is a prince. He belongs to one of the noblest families in Spain. Noble families don’t marry just anyone."

"Father, I disagree. You know, Margarita has no idea who the capitán is. All she knows is that he is kind and loves music the same way she does. She is talented much the way he is. It would not surprise me if both of them have much to share beyond music. Besides, I think our good friend Don Francisco needs a wonderful lady to take the place of his lost love in Spain. He will probably never find anyone quite like Margarita. All things considered, with her talent and love for him, it would be a good idea for both of them. Besides, the capitán mentioned that his family is not inbred like many of the other nobles. Even the Infante Don Antonio, brother of His Majesty Carlos IV, married a commoner."

Alejandro chuckled at that. "You know, Diego, I think you are playing the matchmaker."

Diego looked over at Margarita who was speaking in an animated way with her friend, Ismaida Rodriguez. "You know, Father, I think that this particular matchmaking seems to belong to a higher realm."

******************

A clean-shaven man of medium height approached the gates of the cuartel with a pleasant expression on his face. His dress was a bit flamboyant, even for Los Angeles - a brown frock coat, an orange sash and a pale green shirt with red tie. He walked with a sure gait and kicked out, here and there, at stray stones in his path. He inquired at the entrance for a word with the comandante and was ushered into the cuartel.

Capitán de las Fuentes was seated at his desk when there was a brisk knock at the door of his office. "Enter," he responded in his deep baritone. He stood up at once when he saw a newcomer and smiled. The stranger’s eyes were friendly and there was an air of expectation.

"Capitán de las Fuentes?" the man inquired. "Your pardon, Comandante, for disturbing you."

"Not at all," the officer replied thinking he had met similar men in the theatre. "I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you.

The stranger smiled broadly at the friendly exchange and held out his hand. "I am César Rodriguez, at your service, Your Excellency. My daughter is Ismaida, a friend of Señorita Margarita Pérez of your acquaintance."

"Señorita Margarita has told me about your talented family, Señor," De las Fuentes responded.

"When I heard that you are also a musician, Comandante, I was very eager to meet you," the man continued.

Francisco de las Fuentes took the man’s hand saying, "It is I who am honored to meet the Maestro of Los Angeles. I am very impressed by what has been said about the mentor of Señorita Margarita."

"That is most kind of you, Capitán," beamed Señor Rodriguez. "Señorita Margarita is the most promising young musician I have ever met. I just wish her parents would appreciate her talent as much as I do. If she were my daughter, what I would not do to send her to Madrid."

The comandante nodded at that. "Would you care to have a seat, Señor Rodriguez?"

"Thank you, Comandante," replied Rodriguez in very good humor. "Actually, I am here to make a request of you. There is something you could do that would be very helpful to me and to a young lady of our acquaintance."

"And what is that?" asked De las Fuentes, thinking immediately of Margarita.

"I am having a fiesta at my home tonight at eight o’clock. My family and I would be greatly honored if you could attend," Don César told him. "My daughter is planning to play some music and has rehearsed with Señoritas Juanita Villa and Margarita for many weeks."

Francisco gave him a look of appreciation. "Nothing could please me more," he replied. "I can’t think of a finer reason to come than to hear these young ladies play."

"Excellente, Capitán," Rodriguez responded with enthusiasm. "Perhaps some day we could hear you play as well. We musicians make wonderful harmony together."

"I am honored," the officer nodded. "But I would need to practice because I have not played in a very long time."

"Ah, Comandante, I hear that you blew the boots off a certain Señor Pérez just last night with your playing. If that is the case, then we need to initiate you into our musical circle right away!"

"Ah, I see that your intelligence service is far more effective than the army’s," De las Fuentes commented humorously.

"Young ladies do seem much more effective at times in that regard," Don César smiled. "They do not need to wear disguises and they delight in sharing what they know."

******************

At the end of the bar, away from the customers, Señor Pacheco explained to the padre that it was the soldiers of the cuartel who told him that De las Fuentes was a prince. "I didn't make it up," he reiterated emphatically as if one reprimanded.

Felipe held up a hand. "No, no, I did not say that, Pacheco. Only I am most curious how they would have come to that conclusion."

Pacheco Ríos smiled confidently. "Padre, even if no one knew the comandante was a prince, it would not be hard to guess. Just look at him - calm, commanding, sincere - a man who knows how to give justice to everyone. Did you hear his speech about the king, the law, and the meaning of what it is to be men, even here on the Spanish frontier? Never have I heard anyone speak so eloquently before! Only a prince could talk like that. I swear."

Conchita Cortéz came up from behind the innkeeper. "You two look so serious," she observed. "I hope Señor Pacheco is not in trouble with you, Padre," she teased.

"Good afternoon, Conchita," welcomed Felipe. "No, no one is in trouble."

"Listen, Padre, just ask Conchita what she thinks of him," her employer insisted.

"Thinks of whom?" the girl looked up innocently.

"Conchita, what is your opinion of the comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes?" asked the priest.

The girl smiled. "Oh, I think he’s kind of cute," she responded.

"I don’t think the padre meant that, Conchita," the innkeeper said with a roll of his eyes.

"Let me explain, Conchita," Felipe told her. "Many people here in the pueblo think that Capitán de las Fuentes is very different, say, from Capitán Monastario. Would you agree?"

"Oh, yes," Conchita nodded her head vigorously. "Capitán Monastario is very handsome, but he’s mean. He’s also a snob. Would you believe he won’t even flirt with me? I suppose he thinks he’s better than the rest of us. Humph," she raised her shoulder, turned her chin and pouted. "He’s stingy with tips, too."

"And Capitán de las Fuentes?" asked the priest patiently.

"Well, at first I was a little scared of him because he drew his sword in the courtroom," she explained, "but he is the nicest man. He said that Benito defended my honor and that is true. He freed Benito, and that was the right thing to do. Whenever he comes to the inn, he always asks me how I am doing and tells me I have a nice smile - like spring flowers. He buys the best food and gives a very good tip. We girls almost fight each other to wait on him," she confided. "My mother says that everyone at church says he is a prince."

"Do you think he is?" Felipe pressed.

Conchita put her hand up to her chin and thought a moment. "Yes, I think he is."

"Why, Conchita?" the padre insisted. "Many men are nice and leave good tips. What makes Capitán de las Fuentes different? What makes him a prince where others are not?"

Conchita smiled. "I guess he’s a prince because he’s so dignified and wise. He treats everyone respectfully and doesn’t get mad. And the way he talks – I don’t think anyone else talks like him. He's so smart nobody can understand him - well, sometimes. But I think what makes him a prince is that he believes he must do justice for everyone- kind of like El Zorro."

"Don’t you think he has to be rich to be a prince?" asked Señor Pacheco.

"Oh, he’s probably rich," the girl told him.

"How do you know that?" the innkeeper responded, wondering how a simple waitress could ascertain that.

"He doesn’t worry about the bill or a tip. He doesn’t seem to worry about anything. So, he must be rich," she explained.

"All right, my child," Felipe concluded. "That is all I wanted to know."

After the young woman left, Señor Pacheco leaned over the counter and said in a confidential tone. "Tell me, Padre Felipe – do _you_ think the comandante is a prince?"

Felipe looked thoughtful a moment. "You know, sometimes if everyone believes that a man is a prince, he becomes a prince for everyone. We know that, ideally, a prince will be what we want him to be. It would seem that Capitán de las Fuentes is what people expect in a prince – both in word and in deed."

*****************

Sergeant García and Reyes headed across the plaza towards the tavern for a drink. As they trudged the short distance past the well, García announced, "You know, Corporal, I am so thirsty, I could drink a keg of wine by myself."

"I’m very thirsty, too, Sergeant," responded the corporal.

García turned to the shorter man at his side. "I hope Señor Pacheco has plenty of wine because that is all that I am going to drink this afternoon."

"You must be real thirsty, Sergeant," Reyes commented.

"I am!" confirmed García. "I am really looking forward to this."

"So am I," Reyes added.

When they opened the door to the inn, Garcia had a big smile on his face. The smile suddenly faded a bit. He was surprised – and almost dismayed - to see Padre Felipe in the inn talking to Señor Pacheco. The padre looked at the sergeant casually as the two men came in through the door, but García felt uneasy. Both soldiers sat at the table. Garcia took off his hat.

Conchita Cortéz approached the table and smiled at both soldiers. "Good afternoon, Sergeant García," she greeted. "What can I order for you?"

García hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Reyes, raising his thick eyebrows. "Tea," he said.

" _Tea_?" Cochita responded in an amazed tone of voice. "Tea?" she repeated as if she had not understood him at all.

"Yes, tea," he replied impatiently, rolling his eyes over in the direction of the padre.

Conchita understood at once. "Oh, yes, Sergeant, tea. Do you want it plain or with sugar?"

"With sugar," he answered.

She turned toward Reyes "And what would you like, Corporal Reyes?"

"I'll have a bottle of wine," the corporal asserted.

"No you won't," Garcia told him. "You will have tea."

"But I don't want tea," Reyes told him. He looked at the girl, "I want wine."

"You will drink tea, baboso," García glared at him. "If I have to drink tea, so do you."

The girl took two orders of tea. Reyes was quiet a spell until she brought the tea, placing a cup down in front of each man. "Say, Sergeant, why do you want to drink tea? I thought you said… "

Garcia shushed him, "Quiet, baboso, don't you see Padre Felipe is here. We don't want to be drinking wine while he is here."

Reyes whispered. "But, Sergeant, Padre Felipe knows that you drink wine. Why don't you just order some?"

"Because it is not the time to order wine. I do not want to cause Padre Felipe any pain, that is all."

"How can you cause him pain?"

"Padre Felipe once told me that when he sees me drinking wine, it pains him. So, I don't want him to see me drinking wine."

"Oh," said Reyes. After sipping the tea, he commented, "You know, that’s really very nice of you, Sergeant."

García only rolled his eyes.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 15](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante15.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
**[Zorro Contents](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)**  
**[Main Page](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)**


	15. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Fifteen

Don Alejandro de la Vega asked his son to accompany him to the comandante’s office to give him some information about Enríquez. He met Señor Rodriguez on his way out of the cuartel.

"César, how good to see you," Alejandro greeted him. "I trust nothing distressful brings you to the cuartel?"

"This is the first time I can say that I come to the cuartel for a happy purpose, Alejandro," replied Rodriguez. "I wanted to make sure the comandante received an invitation to our party tonight. It seems that my daughter is very eager to have him there and we would not want to disappoint her or her friends who know of the good capitán’s appreciation of music. Ismaida tells me that the capitán is quite accomplished and plays violin, piano, guitar, and other instruments."

Alejandro was impressed. "I had no idea that Capitán de las Fuentes was a musician," he told Don César. "I know him as a scholar of much erudition."

"Why does that not surprise me?" César mused. "I have just come from a most enlightening visit with our comandante. We spoke of all sorts of musical styles and developments - from Dittersdorf to Bontiempo, and from Brunetti to Pleyel. I could not look at him and imagine him as anything less than a colleague at the Royal Academy of Music. Capitán de las Fuentes is delightful, a most delightful man."

"It seems that our comandante is a man of many talents," added Diego. "We are also looking forward to your fiesta and to the young ladies’ presentation."

"There is much to prepare for. I hope you will forgive my not lingering for long. We can speak of this at the fiesta. I look forward to seeing you this evening," César smiled and departed in the same brisk way that he had come.

Alejandro knocked at the door of the Oficina del Comandante and both men were admitted by De las Fuentes himself. When learning of their concerns about Joaquín Enríquez, the captain asked them to be seated.

"You seem to have a number of visitors today, Comandante," Diego remarked. "I hope we will not keep you from siesta today."

"Not at all, Don Diego," the captain told him. "As a matter of fact, I slept very well last night. Now, I understand you have some concerns about Señor Enríquez?"

Alejandro leaned forward. "One of my vaqueros told me that he thought he saw Señor Enríquez only yesterday evening, Your Excellency. It was near the shallow gully just outside of the pueblo off the El Camino. He said he only got a glimpse of him and it was getting dark so he could not be sure. There is much brush in the area. We thought that any information would be of help."

"That is correct," replied De las Fuentes. "Sergeant García and Corporal Reyes are in charge of units now inspecting all the known former worksites and living quarters of Señor Enríquez. It is reasonable to assume that he may seek refuge in familiar places. I have given orders that Señor Enríquez not be hurt if at all possible."

There was a sudden knock at the door and all three men turned toward the sound.

"Enter," the capitán ordered.

A soldier appeared. "Begging your pardon, Comandante, but there is a young lady here to see you. She says it is most urgent."

"With your permission?" De las Fuentes asked. His two guests nodded. "Please see her in," he requested.

A moment later Margarita Pérez burst into his office. All three men rose to their feet. She saw the De la Vegas in a mist and turned towards the comandante. He came from behind his desk at once. Her distress was acute.

"Margarita?" Francisco asked in surprise. "What is wrong, Señorita?" He moved towards her in alarm. She seemed almost ready to collapse.

When he reached her, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. She cried as if her heart would break.

Francisco de las Fuentes put his arms around her and let her cry until she was ready to compose herself. "It’s all right, dear," he told her. "Cry all you need to."

There was no sound in the room except for her weeping and the sorrowful sounds that accompanied it. Diego and Alejandro exchanged glances at both her distress as well as the familiarity she showed toward the officer. The captain did not actually adopt a neutral stance himself, thought Alejandro. De las Fuentes’ expression only showed his disquiet for her anguish.

After a few minutes, she seemed to realize that there were others in the room. The tears continued to stream down her face but she began to compose herself. She looked up into Francisco’s face and saw his eyes were only for her. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "I did not mean to embarrass you in front of others."

"You do not embarrass me, Margarita," he told her. "You can never embarrass those who love you. I am greatly concerned at your grief. Would you please have a seat? Tell me what has occurred that has so broken your heart."

She sat down at his desk and accepted her kerchief that he took from his sash. She tried to dry her tears but they kept coming. She took several breaths in an effort to control her emotions. "My father sold the piano and had it removed while I was gone this morning," she wept. "He is doing this to punish me for refusing to marry Salvador Muñoz."

Francisco de las Fuentes knelt at her side, although it was painful for him to do so, and took one of her hands into his. "When did you discover this?"

"Just now," she explained, her chest still heaving in her dismay. "My father told me that he can no longer afford to have a piano in the house. He claims that it needs repair for having gone out of tune. When he discovered the cost, he decided that he had more important things to spend his money on. When I told him that that is not true, that there was nothing wrong with the piano last night when we played, he got angry and began shouting. I just ran out of the house. You know it’s not true, don’t you, Francisco? You know that what he said is a lie."

De las Fuentes brow furrowed as he listened to her story. "I can only say that in my estimation there was nothing wrong with the piano last night, just as you say. Tell me this, Margarita, was the piano yours or your father’s?"

She sniffed. "Father got it from Grandmother’s inheritance. It’s been in my mother’s family a very long time."

The comandante seemed to remember his other visitors. He stood up slowly and looked at the De la Vegas. "Your pardon, Señores," he said. "But do you know of anyone who might have purchased such a piano?"

Alejandro spoke up at once. "The fastest way to sell a piano without too much concern for a discerning buyer would be to contact Señor Cárdenas, the owner of the General Store. It’s just across the plaza from the cuartel. If he did not buy it himself, he may know who might have. Pianos do not have a big market here in Los Angeles, but he could certainly find someone who could tune it and care for it."

Diego stood up and approached Margarita. "Margarita, with your permission, I would like to make some inquiries about this."

Margarita looked up at her friend with grateful eyes. "Sí, Diego. Thank you so much." Her eyes were still wet with tears.

"I’d like to go now, if everyone will excuse me," Diego said, bowing and departing with haste.

"I too, will make some inquiries, Señorita Pérez," Alejandro added, also rising.

De las Fuentes came over to him and escorted him to the door. They exchanged a few quiet words and then the comandante closed the door.

Margarita was twisting the kerchief in her hands. She looked up at Francisco as he came back to her. "Francisco, why does my father hate me so much? I already told him that I will never marry Salvador Muñoz. Not only do we have nothing in common, I do not like him at all." He took her hands in his and she saw that his eyes were full of sympathy for her. "Am I so wrong about this?"

"No, Margarita, you are not wrong. One should never marry someone that one does not wish to. One should marry – one should marry one’s destiny." He smiled as if at his own statement. "Now I want you to go to your friend’s – to Ismaida’s home. Wash your face, dear, and tell your friend all that has happened. This will help you unburden yourself. And do not worry too much. You have good friends who will be helping you find the balance."

"The balance?" she queried. "What is the balance, Francisco?"

"It is something that I am seeking myself," he answered wistfully. There was a heavy step on the porch outside and a knock at the door. "But let us speak of this later. I see that Sergeant García has returned from his patrol." He paused. "Margarita, dear," he said, looking deeply into her eyes, "be faithful to your convictions and not to the desires of others. This is a hard lesson I have learned in my life. We pay a heavy price for our allegiance to truth, but in the end, the only thing that matters is our own conscience. If we can live with the decisions we have made, and hopefully they are the ones that God ordains, then we have found the essence of peace. From peace we build higher, better things."

She gazed into his eyes, not wanting to leave them. She swallowed hard. "I think I understand," she told him. "Without our friends and those we care for, it would be much harder to pay such a price. Thank you for being the one who has helped me, Francisco."

He did not know what else to say. He took her hand, caressed it, then kissed it. He then opened the door for her and she left with a smile. It was strange how all his encounters with her seemed to leave something special with him - and his with her. He looked up at the sergeant who saluted him while watching the departing señorita. "Come in, Sergeant. Let us hear your report."

*********************

It was late in the afternoon when Sebastian Pérez leisurely strolled up to the door of his house. He was feeling very pleased with himself because he had just implemented his next step to pressure Margarita and that was getting rid of the piano. He had pulled it off while she was out of the house early that morning and, therefore, avoided a big scene during its removal. The workmen had hauled it off and he had a small table put up against the wall where the piano had been. He had more plans for the evening party at the Rodriguez’s and those plans would permanently deal with the problem of the comandante’s friendship as well.

He opened the door and closed it, putting his hat up on a wall hook. He thought to pour himself a drink when he was distracted by the strains of some familiar sounds. Where was it coming from? With a jerk he looked up and realized that piano music was coming from upstairs. It was more than just familiar; it was as if nothing had changed at all. Merry tunes filled the air as he climbed the stairs in a fury.

Near the top of the stairs he encountered María who had heard him come in the front door. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded as she continued to descend the stairs. He followed her down.

At the bottom of the stairs was the elderly servant, Martín. He looked up at Pérez. "I believe that I can explain, Don Sebastian," he said. The master of the house came within a few steps of the servant as the mistress took her place beside the servant.

"Well?" demanded Pérez.

"Just this afternoon, about an hour ago, a man came by the house with the very piano you sold earlier today. He said that it had been cleaned and tuned. He said that the piano was a gift for Señorita Margarita from an admirer," Martín told him.

"And who is her admirer?" Sebastian queried, surprised at such a designation.

"I do not know, Señor," the man replied. "Only that it was a gift. Several workmen took the piano upstairs while the señorita was out." He paused. "Oh, yes, there was also a package for her that arrived as well."

"What kind of package? What was it?"

"When I gave the package to the señorita, I also informed her that a gift had arrived and been placed in her room. When I handed her the package, she took it and went upstairs. A few minutes later I heard her call me and ask me to help her open it. I did so. When we unwrapped it, we found sheets and sheets of music."

"Music?" frowned Sebastian. His fumed in agitation

"Sí, Señor," continued Martín. "Señorita Margarita was so surprised and pleased in finding the piano in her room. She turned to me and told me that many of the songs were quite new, ones that she had not heard before or did not have. She spread the music sheets about and began practicing at once. I do not believe that she has stopped since she got home."

Pérez turned on his wife. He was furious. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

María looked up at him. "I did not know anything about this. Someone has sent a special gift for Margarita." She looked at Martín who nodded.

"Well, I’ll just have to get rid of it again," Sebastian declared.

"You got rid of the piano when it was yours. You sold it," she replied, balling her fists so that they would not appear to tremble. "Someone else bought it and now has given it as a gift to Margarita. It is now her piano." When her husband began to sputter, she added. "Someone must have known that you got rid of it and who would know that?"

Sebastian was quiet a moment. He thought of Salvador. Maybe the young man had decided to purchase it and coax Margarita into thinking better of him. It was a good way to look generous and tolerant at the same time. "Well, maybe this isn’t such a bad idea…" he said. He continued down the stairs and turned to servant. "I’ll have my usual drink now, Martín." He went into the sala only slightly distracted by the music from above. "As soon as I marry her off, the piano will be gone for good," he commented to María.

"You might like it at first," María told him, "but after a while, you might just miss it."

He snorted, "That’s unlikely." He pulled a gold watch out of his waistcoat and looked at it. "It won’t be long before this affair at Don César’s. Salvador will meet us there. His parents will also be in attendance. I have a surprise planned for them and I hope that it will make all of us very pleased." He smiled.

María turned away and left the room. She began to wring her hands again. She looked up the stairs towards her daughter’s room and the sounds of joyful music. She took a deep breath. Their ordeals were far from over and she dreaded the evening event as she began to dread every wakening day since her daughter turned down Salvador Muñoz’s proposal.

*******************

Angel Ledesma hurried through the gates of the cuartel. He was eager to see the comandante. No sooner had he got to the porch of the comandante’s office, than he heard someone calling his name.

"Angel! Angel Ledesma!" shouted Tomás Robello. He waited impatiently for the shorter vaquero to come to the cell where he was confined. "Where have you been? What has taken you so long? I’ve been in this jail for three days now."

"Hello, Tomás," replied Ledesma. "I’ve been working very hard to pay off my debt to the comandante. That is why you have not seen me."

"Well, when are you going to get me out of here?" demanded Robello.

"Well, Tomás, first I have to pay my fines. My wife gave me some money but she was mad at me about the fight," Angel told him. "I told her that I needed fifty-four pesos to loan you to get out, but that was a big mistake."

"What do you mean ‘a big mistake’?" demanded Robello.

"She started hitting me with her wet dishrag," Angel explained. "She yelled that I would not get a single centavo from her to bail you out with. She said she was tired of all my money going to pay for you. She said that you are a worthless leech. I said, ‘But he’s my best friend.’ Then she said ‘With friends like that, you don’t need enemies.’"

"That old hen," fumed Robello. "How can I get out of here?"

"I don’t know, Tomás," Ledesma told him. "But the comandante had a good idea."

"Oh, and what was that?" asked Robello sarcastically. "To join the army?"

"Oh, no," Ledesma smiled. "Nothing so bad. Why, he said that you could learn a new trade while in jail. You could sweep the cuartel, whitewash the buildings, mend harnesses, bridles and saddles. He said you would even learn to like the food here."

Robello’s mouth hung open for a moment before he let loose a dozen epithets that ended with a howl of "I demand **JUSTICE**!"

Angel Ledesma didn’t bat an eye when Robello finished. "Oh, I forgot, Tomás. The comandante also said maybe you needed a wife. I told him that was probably a good idea. Then you would save money like me and wouldn’t drink so much." With that statement he turned on his heel and headed back toward the comandante’s office.

"With friends like you, Angel," shouted Robello, " _I_ don’t need enemies!"

********************

That afternoon Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes returned from their patrols in the countryside. It was a break for lunch before they set out on a final patrol for the late afternoon. That evening, the nightly patrols would resume. García had received the report from Capitán de las Fuentes that the fugitive Enríquez had been seen the night before at the edge of town and so his troops had searched the area. They had not discovered anything of note since the search of the abandoned shack the day before.

Both men were standing outside the cuartel enjoying the sun when García heaved a sigh of contentment. "You know, Corporal, even though we cannot find the prisoner, there does not seem to be too much danger. None of the caballeros reported anything unusual. Everything seems very peaceful. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about how the tavern must be missing our business."

Reyes nodded. "I kept thinking about that, too. But, standing here is almost as nice."

García was puzzled a moment. "Why do you think that, Corporal?"

"Well, Sergeant, even though we don’t have wine, there is nice music to listen to."

García nodded absently listening. "Yes." Then he perked up. "That’s it. I knew there was something strange."

Now it was Reyes’ turn to look puzzled. "Strange?" he asked.

"Yes, Corporal, strange." He looked around. "Where is that music coming from?"

"From inside the cuartel, Sergeant," the corporal pointed out.

García accosted one of the sentries. "Private Marino, do you hear music?"

"Oh, sí, Sergeant," replied the soldier. "It has been going on most of the afternoon."

"Well, where is it coming from?" asked García impatiently.

"From inside the cuartel, Sergeant," Marino replied nonchalantly.

"I know that, stupid," García told him. "Who can be playing such music?"

The soldier shrugged. "I don’t know, Sergeant. I’m on duty, but the music is very nice to listen to. It helps pass the time."

Both García and Reyes entered the gates of the cuartel and began to look around. Their footsteps took them right up to the office of the comandante. The music was coming from inside the office.

García knocked on the door. "Comandante? Oh, Comandante?" When there was no answer he opened the door to the office cautiously and peeked in. No one was in the office. He gestured for Reyes to follow him.

Both men followed the sound of a violin playing. It was coming from the private quarters of the captain. García and Reyes looked at each other.

Reyes took the few steps up to the comandante’s door. "It’s coming from inside the capitán’s room," he said.

García sighed. "I know that, baboso." He followed the corporal up the stairs. Both men listened but Reyes found himself quite squashed up against the door by García’s bulk.

The music came to an end and there was silence. Reyes looked up at García as the big man leaned over to listen more carefully.

Capitán de las Fuentes opened the door of his quarters to step out into the office when two soldiers came crashing through the entrance and tumbled to the floor. He stepped back with alacrity. He could see that the corporal got the worse of it with the sergeant falling on top of him.

As both soldiers scrambled to their feet, he asked "What is going on here, Sergeant, Corporal?"

"Begging your pardon, Capitán," García hastened to apologize as he painfully rose from the floor. "Was that you making the music, Comandante?"

De las Fuentes smiled. "Ah, so you were listening to my concert." He turned and walked over to the chest of drawers upon which had been placed three objects. The two soldiers followed him. He retrieved his violin and bow, presenting them as one might a holy relic. "This is what you heard."

Both García and Reyes nodded looking over the instrument with interest. "The music was very beautiful, Comandante," Reyes said.

"I have not practiced in a very long time," the officer told them, "but lately I have been feeling that I should." With that he took the violin up on his left shoulder, tucked the chin rest comfortably, raised the stick with its horsehair ribbon, and played for them. The long bow tripped over the strings and the song was lively, giving full expression to the use of strings and horsehair rod. When he finished, he asked, "Do you know this piece?" Both soldiers were very impressed but shook their heads. "Ah," Francisco replied. "Just a few excerpts from Beethoven's Violin Concerto, the _Allegro_." He paused a moment and took up the violin again. "Perhaps you know this selection?" He played an even longer time with much passion and tenderness. When he finished, he smiled, lowering the bow. "Ah, do you know the composer?"

Both soldiers shook their heads.

"Not even Mozart?" De las Fuentes seemed puzzled. "Well, perhaps you are acquainted with music of a more recent vintage. After all, many people consider Mozart old-fashioned. How about this?" And he played some more. This time he played dramatically and with great flourishes. After he finished, he gave them a look of expectation. All he saw were some embarrassed smiles and eyes that avoided his. He sighed a little. "Those were some pieces made famous by that diabolically talented virtuoso, Niccoló Paganini - especially the _Larghetto_ from Sonata One in A Major and the _Allegretto mottegiando_ from Sonata Four," he explained. "I thought everyone knew about him." He paused. "Have you not heard of these musicians or their music at all?"

Reyes shook his head. "I am sorry, Comandante, I have never heard this music before."

When the officer expressed his surprise, García explained, "I am sorry, Comandante, but I do not know this music either. But it is very beautiful. I have _heard_ the names of Beethoven and Mozart before, but I do not _know_ the music."

"Ah," replied the captain, shaking his head in dismay. "Do you not know any music at all?"

"Well, I like to sing," began García. Reyes nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Excellent," responded Francisco in approval. "And what kind of songs do you sing? Perhaps some lyrics from the operettas?"

"I sing army songs, Capitán," the big man told him. "Marching songs and amusing songs about drinking at the taverns. I know lots of songs - about men missing their sweethearts and burros smarter than their masters. "

"The sergeant knows many funny songs, too," Reyes added, "especially about a comandante who…." He winced as the sergeant deliberately stepped on his foot.

De las Fuentes smiled knowingly at that, but turned back toward the chest-of-drawers and replaced his violin and bow. "Perhaps you can sing for me some time," he commented.

"Why, sí, Comandante," García responded with enthusiasm. He then noticed something. "Begging your pardon, Capitán, but who is that?" asked the sergeant pointing at the third object on the top of the chest of drawers. "Is that your wife?"

The officer turned back towards the object and picked it up. It was a painting of two people. The most striking object in the painting was a beautiful woman with a bewitching smile in an expensive dress and jewelry seated in a chair. The small bearded man standing next to her in the painting had a very pleasant smile of contentment on his face. He gazed at it a few moments. "No, Sergeant," he replied. "She was a very dear friend of mine in Spain."

"She looks like a princess," the sergeant remarked. "And you look just like a general, Comandante."

"She is a countess," De las Fuentes said. He cleared his throat. "Now what can I do for you, Sergeant?" He placed the painting back on top of the chest and turned back to the two soldiers.

"I was going to make a report, Capitán," García began.

"Why don’t we conduct this business out in the office," the officer pointed to the door. "I also have some further instructions for you regarding the whereabouts of Señor Enríquez which we need to discuss."

It was a good half an hour later when Reyes and García left the office. Both men pulled on their gauntlets and began to leave the porch when Reyes paused. "You know, Sergeant, I keep on thinking about the comandante and how he played the music. It was very beautiful. I never knew he could play a violin."

García came to a halt. "I did not know it either. You know, Corporal, princes can do many things – they are princes, they know much about the wonders of the world and they can even be musicians or doctors. That is probably why they are princes." He began to walk towards the gates of the cuartel again.

Reyes hurried to catch up to him. "Say, Sergeant, you know, it might be something else, too."

"Might be what?" the big man asked impatiently.

"Well, I was thinking that when people play music like that, they must be very happy because the music is so beautiful."

García looked thoughtful a moment. "That is true. They must be happy."

"Well, if people who make music are happy, then the comandante must be happy. What do you think he is happy about? We have not caught the prisoner, but he is still happy."

"Hmm, you are right about that," García mused. "Maybe he’s in love. People in love make beautiful music."

Reyes looked doubtful. "Who would he be in love with, Sergeant? With the woman in the portrait?"

"Perhaps," García replied. Then his eyes grew wide. "I know who it is! It is Señorita Pérez. The comandante goes to see her every day. She plays music and so does he. She gave him her kerchief and he keeps it in his sash." García looked very pleased with himself. "Of course, the comandante does not speak of these things. Perhaps it is a secret."

Reyes looked pensive a moment. "Perhaps." He noticed García had a big smile on his face. "We’ll have to remember not to tell anyone if it’s a secret."

"Let’s go to the tavern for a quick drink before we head back out on patrol, Corporal. It gets quite thirsty out on the road."

With that, the two soldiers headed toward Señor Pacheco’s inn and tavern.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 16](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante16.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	16. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter 16

The house was decorated with bright flowers and streamers. Walking in the front door, a visitor beheld ribbons and decorations on the walls and even on the banister leading upstairs. Most of the decorations had paper musical notes or paper instruments attached. Others were drawings of birds on branches or together in ‘choirs’ singing. There was an air of cheerful whimsy in the drawings, in the arrangement of furniture and how the appetizers were to be found in odd nooks and crannies, on small tables and large as if a wanderer could graze on all sorts of delicacies – from nuts to seeds to confections of all kinds.

Traversing from room to room, the visitor would see paintings on the wall of solo or group players with cellos, flutes, violins, harps, violas, guitars, or oboes. Some of the paintings must have dated to the previous century because the hair fashions of the women were so distinct and some of the portrayals might have been in France or England, the Italian or German states, or perhaps even Vienna. Small groups of guests stood together excitedly discussing the latest gossip or perhaps politics or even the decorations and paintings.

The center of attraction in the large sala was a grand piano and in opposing corners were a great harp, a cello, and a guitar. On shelves were lovingly placed a violin, a viola, flutes, a Jews Harp, and an oboe. César and Ramona Rodriguez dressed the part, looking much like the portraits on their walls.

By half past the hour the house was already quite filled with people while horses and carriages crowded the street outside. Diego de la Vega had preceded his father into the pueblo and now held a glass of wine in his hand. He watched the guests arrive, including the old musician, Don José Escobedo, the comandante of Los Angeles, the Alcalde and his daughter, and other notables. He mingled, enjoying the conversations and spotted Ismaida placing music sheets on top of the piano. He made his way over to the piano and greeted the young lady. "Good evening, Ismaida. Are you preparing for your presentation tonight?"

The young lady turned towards him with a smile. She was so tiny next to his tall frame. "Hello, Diego, it is so nice to see you here," she responded. "Yes, Juanita, Margarita and I are going to play some piano solos and duets. As a matter of fact," she lowered her voice, "Margarita changed a few pieces because she wants to play some Beethoven for someone special." Ismaida covered her mouth and giggled.

"And who is that someone special?" Diego asked with a smile, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial manner.

"Well," she whispered, looking around. "If you must know, she wants to play them for Capitán de las Fuentes." She paused. "Margarita is in love with him and she says that he met Señor Beethoven in person and loves his music."

"That is very thoughtful of Margarita," Diego commented. "I am sure the capitán will appreciate that." He straightened up. "It looks like almost everyone is here. You must have invited the town. I don’t think anyone is missing."

"Oh, Diego," Ismaida replied. "There is someone missing, but he wouldn’t dare come. I just wish that he could."

"And who is that?" asked the young man in an amused fashion.

"Now, don’t you laugh at me, Diego de la Vega," she admonished, "but I would have invited El Zorro to come. I imagine that he is very much like all of us."

"Perhaps he is," Diego smiled. "But why would you want to invite this outlaw? How could he possibly be like the rest of us?"

Ismaida flared up a little at the term ‘outlaw.’ She put her hands on her hips. "You know that he’s really no outlaw, Diego," she admonished. "Only Capitán Monastario and a few others think that. Why, he helps all the innocent people and the poor." She sighed. "Someone as dashing and brave as El Zorro would fit right in with us, I’m certain of it."

"All right, Ismaida," Diego laughed. "You are probably right. Anyone who would wear that kind of costume has to be a good actor. Maybe he can sing and dance as well." He ducked out of her way with a mischievous grin as her mouth opened in protest. He spotted the comandante with a drink in his hand and made his way over to him. "Good evening, Capitán," he greeted the officer.

"Ah, Don Diego, good evening," De las Fuentes replied. "I see that Señorita Rodriguez has been setting up the musical program. Was she, perhaps, consulting with you on its content?"

"Now, you flatter me, Your Excellency," Diego responded with a smile. "I know a few popular tunes on the piano and play guitar, but I’m no virtuoso. The talent of this family leaves me far behind."

"I’m sure that you are being much too modest," De las Fuentes told him, "for anyone to play a musical instrument shows that they have an interest in culture and the finer things in life."

"You know, Comandante," Diego pointed out, "Don César told my father and I that you are a musician yourself. He said you play violin, piano and other instruments. I think that it is you who are modest. My efforts are most pitiable compared to that."

Francisco de las Fuentes nodded slightly. "Not at all. By the way, where is Don Alejandro? I do not believe I have seen him. I trust he is not ill."

Diego looked around. "He is running rather uncharacteristically late," he commented. "But he may be speaking with acquaintances out on the patio." He was going to continue but he saw that the officer’s attention was drawn away. Ismaida and Juanita Villa came up behind the young man. They were smiling shyly but their eyes were fastened on the comandante. "Good evening, Juanita," Diego turned and acknowledged the other girl. He turned to the officer. "I think these young ladies would like a word with you, Capitán." He stepped away towards another group and greeted them. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the girls engage animatedly with De las Fuentes, then draw him over to the piano.

They stood shyly for a moment. The officer politely raised his eyebrows and assumed a questioning look to encourage their query. Both young women smiled at each other and then the tall, thin one spoke. "Is it true, Capitán de las Fuentes, that you have been to Vienna and seen the famous composers?" asked Juanita.

"Yes, I have," he replied. "But their music is played in Madrid as well. On a concert bill can be found the music of Gluck, Michael or Josef Haydn, Mozart, Paul Wranitzky, Vanhal, Richter, Gussmann, and many other composers."

"Is it true that you were in the Royal Palace in Madrid and saw the old king and queen as well as His Majesty?" asked Ismaida. "Have you met other famous people at Court?"

De las Fuentes smiled pleasantly. "Yes, I have been to the Royal Palace many times," he told her. "Actually, there is more than one royal palace. The one in Madrid is called ‘Puerta del Sol.’ It is in the heart of our capital. Old King Carlos and Queen María Luisa hated it because the summers are so hot and the winters are so cold in Madrid. In San Idlefonso there is another royal palace called ‘La Granja.’ However, their favorite palace was in San Lorenzo and it is called ‘El Escorial.’ It was where Her Majesty’s favorite horse, Marcial, lived. She had the painter, Francisco Goya, paint her on Marciel. That was in 1799. It is a large portrait. All the palaces have an enormous number of rooms, lush gardens, and hundreds of servants."

"Who are the famous people at Court?" asked Juanita. "Have you met real princes and princesses before?"

"At Court one meets many famous and noble individuals such as the Duque and Duchess of Osuna. They are great patrons of the arts as well as for playwrights and for bull fighting. As wealthy as they are," he confided, "both of them lack refinement despite their penchant for wit and hospitality."

"Are they really so very rich?" asked Ismaida with great curiosity. Already she was imagining people in silks and jewels.

"They have a marvelous retreat, La Alameda, a few leagues to the south of Madrid," De las Fuentes told them. "The place is a flourishing oasis among the desolate plains of Castile. Let me describe it to you. It is a palace where immense granite steps lead to an unusual entrance. Around it are artificial hillocks surmounted by colonnaded temples, waterfalls, and a miniature fortress with cannons. There is even a hermitage occupied by replicas of hermits for authenticity. The Osuna family has an enormous number of titles, estates, and wealth accumulated through generations of intermarriage with the noblest families. Unfortunately, this has led to a bit of dullness on the part of some family members and strange characteristics in other ones."

"What kind of strange characteristics?" asked Juanita.

"Well, some would say that it is a matter of opinion, but the Duchess is not very feminine in appearance. She is rather a strange woman who handles a sword and stiletto with great dexterity. She has a keen interest in economic problems and government. Her taste in art is rather macabre with witches and the like. Did you know that she is related to the Borgias of Italy?"

The two girls shook their heads. "Would you believe that some people here in Los Angeles actually believe in witches?" asked Ismaida, directing the question to Juanita.

"Who does?" asked Juanita. "Only Señora Pertolá says that the curadora is a witch."

"She’s not a witch," Ismaida frowned. "She is just old, but she knows much about herbs and magical potions. She cures the sick and sells love potions."

De las Fuentes was interested. "Did you know that as recently as 1780, only forty years ago, a woman was convicted of witchcraft in Spain?"

Juanita looked astonished. "How did they know she was a witch?" she asked indignantly.

"Ah," the officer replied. "The authorities said that eggs decorated with mysterious symbols were found in her possession. No one can deny that the Evil One exists," he insisted. "Did you know that in 1610, He actually held court in Logronño disguised as a goat in a meadow before a diabolic assembly?"

The young women looked at each other skeptically and then at De las Fuentes with alarm.

"How could anyone tell that it was not just an ordinary goat in a meadow?" asked Ismaida.

The Spanish officer looked stumped a moment and did not answer the question.

"What happened to her?" Juanita asked. "Imagine arresting anyone for having decorated eggs!"

The officer lowered his voice to a discreet whisper. "The Holy Office said so and condemned the meeting," he replied. "As for the accused, she was burnt at the stake for having intercourse with the Devil."

"That is ridiculous!" Juanita declared. "Capitán de las Fuentes, you are much too intelligent to believe such nonsense, isn’t that so?"

The officer looked slightly embarrassed at the young woman's unexpected challenge to his story, but he pressed on. "I actually met some witches myself," he told her. "They are black females and live in Brazil. They speak in foreign tongues, dance around fires, and are pagans. They invoke spirits to break or create spells with magical representations of enemies."

"Did you see them harm anyone?" Juanita insisted. "My father says that too many people have been accused by those who are ignorant and willing to believe anything that they are told. This is how injustice happens to innocent people."

De las Fuentes thought a moment. "It is true that I have not seen harm done by any of them to others, but I am sure that they must cause harm to men and women because of all the bad fortune that happens to good people. Surely God does not punish the good; therefore, it must be witches or warlocks or spirits that inflict harm on others. Sinful people seeking to harm others could pay for curses or bad luck."

"Have many people been killed as witches in Spain?" asked Ismaida who sensed that the conversation about who could be a witch could travel unforeseen roads.

"Actually, no. Very few people have been condemned or died for witchcraft in Spain in recent times, although in the past it was more so," Francisco answered. "It is true of Catholic kingdoms overall. However, in the Protestant kingdoms of England, Scotland, in many German states, and even in the English colonies of North America, both men and women were tried and executed for witchcraft in great numbers. In the German states, thousands of women were killed. Some say tens of thousands."

Juanita looked horrified. "I think that is terrible," she declared. "How could so many women be killed?" She eyed the officer critically. "You don’t believe that all those women were witches, do you, Capitán?"

"No, I don’t," he replied in a mild tone, but impressed with her degree of skepticism. "You see, Protestants tend to run riot with their fears of heresy whereas even the Inquisition does not really believe that so many people are witches. There are Christians who are seduced by the Evil One and they need to be found out. The problem is that most trials are conducted in an atmosphere of hysteria and we need to have calm, deliberate counsels, not madness. When one sees a poor woman, usually an ugly one or even an old woman, convicted, it is probably for these reasons and not any real possession that she has been condemned. Those who accuse them are more likely to be guilty of crimes rather than those accused."

"If that is true," Juanita insisted, "then how could the accused ever achieve a fair hearing or justice? If anything, people who act cruelly should be guilty of witchcraft rather than those who paint eggs or who practice old fashioned cures."

"Señorita Juanita, you are a true child of the Enlightenment," Francisco responded with a smile, "for there is nothing that you will not question in your desire to see that justice is done." He paused. "I think your instinct to suspect the accusers rather than the accused is a good one. But even in our society of intellectual thinking and debate, we must be cautious. I am sorry to say that there are those who act cruelly who may not be possessed at all, just as those who serve the Devil do not always act overtly, but cleverly. I tend to think that those with wealth and power are more likely to be in the service of the Evil One, rather than the poor, for they use their power to harm, not to help." He looked sad a moment, then ended with, "I apologize to you for engaging you thusly, for this kind of debate has gone on and will likely go on until we become wiser, which I hope we will, in the future."

"My father believes as you do, Capitán," Juanita told him, trying to soften her stance, "that we should be willing to debate issues from all sides and learn to be wiser from it. Only in this way can we be fair and attain justice. He says that knowledge of the past is good, but that it can chain us to old ideas that may harm us. He says that as long as honor guides our steps, then we err on the side of what is good rather than what is harmful to others."

"Would the king have such wise counsel, Señorita," Francisco mused, "for it is sorely needed in these times. However, to change the subject matter, I notice that this is a very fine piano. Tell me, which of you will play tonight?"

"All of us will play," answered Ismaida. "I have been practicing a little and would like to know if you are familiar with this song." She glanced at Juanita mischievously, then sat down and began to play a melody he knew quite well. "Do you know it? It is one of Margarita’s favorites."

He nodded and looked pleased. "It was the first piece that she played for me," he told them.

Ismaida played a little more, then halted. "I’m afraid I don’t know the rest of it," she pretended. "Could you, perhaps, finish it?" She patted the stool next to her.

Francisco looked for a place to put his drink down. Juanita indicated she would take it and he handed it to her. He sat down next to the tiny Ismaida. Both girls noticed how he rather ceremoniously flipped the tailcoats of his uniform over the back of the seat. "It goes like this," he told her and took up where she had left off. She looked up at Juanita who indicated with a nod that several guests were forming a circle around them and listening. The officer did not seem to notice them at all. Ismaida and Juanita were very impressed with De las Fuentes’ playing. When he finished the piece, he saw the delight on their faces.

"Why, you played it from memory without any sheet music," Ismaida enthused.

"I’ve played it often enough that I don’t need the music," he explained. "Yet it remains a favorite of mine."

"Oh, Capitán, you play just like Margarita does," Juanita sighed. "You two would make quite a match," she hinted.

"You are too kind," Francisco responded with a smile and he appreciated the compliment. "My efforts pale in comparison to hers for she has a remarkable passion and sensitivity, qualities that make her playing majestic. That is the mark of a superior artist." The two girls nodded in agreement. As he rose from the bench, there was quiet applause from behind him and he turned in surprise toward his small audience. He bowed slightly, acknowledging their appreciation. He saw Diego heading toward him. The young man looked impressed with what he had heard.

"Your Excellency, that was very beautiful," Diego told him. He gestured toward the entrance of the sala. "It seems that the last member of the musical trio has just arrived," he confided. "And it looks like there might be trouble."

De las Fuentes’ attention was drawn across the room. He saw Señor and Señora Sebastián Pérez at the door. Behind them stood Margarita and she looked very unhappy. She wore black again. The officer wondered what could have happened in the short time since the late afternoon when the piano had been returned to her.

Margarita was standing behind her parents and looked around anxiously. She had overheard her father tell her mother that Salvador would be there and she wanted to avoid him. It was with great relief that she spotted De las Fuentes across the room talking with Diego de la Vega. Their eyes met. As her parents turned to greet César Rodriguez, she broke away from them and headed toward the officer. He had a smile on his face and as they drew near, he reached out his hands to take hers. When she reached him, he took both of them and kissed each one, telling her how pleased he was to see her. Diego smiled, greeted her, and bowed himself out of the scene diplomatically. He knew that she had barely even noticed him even though she had greeted him politely.

Margarita’s face lighted up. She drew near and whispered, "Francisco, may I ask a great favor of you?"

"Of course, you may," he responded.

"But I don’t know whether I should ask this of you or not." She hesitated, then added, "Would you dance only with me all evening? It would make me very happy." There was a kind of desperate hope in her pretty features.

De las Fuentes was embarrassed, although nothing would have pleased him more. He thought briefly about how he would have whirled with her across the floor in the past, but now he was crippled and no longer danced. In fact, he was surprised that she asked and did not seem to notice the fact. But she seemed so anxious that he responded, "I would be honored, Margarita, as it would please you."

"Thank you so much," she said looking very relieved. "There’s no one I’d rather dance with more than you." Then she smiled as if all her worries had suddenly lifted from her shoulders. It was almost surprising to him that so small a request could have such a great reward in her eyes.

Both of them suddenly noticed that Ismaida and Juanita had appeared at their side and were smiling in a knowing way.

"Are you ready to play, Margarita?" asked Ismaida. "You told us that you had planned something special. I told father that we are about to begin and he is informing the guests."

"Oh," Margarita responded, blushing a bit. "All of us have been practicing for tonight, Don Francisco," she explained, wanting to appear a little more formal with him in front of her friends. "Each of us will play a few movements from the selections of several composers. We hope you will like them."

He took her arm in his. "I am looking forward to your performance," he remarked as they walked back to the piano. "And who will play first?"

"Me," Ismaida piped up. "We will play duos and solos, Capitán." She sat at the piano, arranged the sheets of music and looked around her to make sure it was the right moment to start. As she began to play, the hum of conversation in the sala and beyond dimmed as more guests came forward to listen.

De las Fuentes recognized their musical agenda at once. Ismaida started out with a short Mozart piece. She then began to play a few movements from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata 14 in C sharp minor, known by most in a later age as the "Moonlight Sonata." Margarita sat beside her and both played more movements from the same sonata. Margarita then played a short piece by Bach, his Prelude to "The Well-tempered Clavier." Juanita then played selections from the Emperor Concerto. Francisco stood only a few feet from the players and seemed to be looking off into the distance as he listened. But when Margarita played, he only had eyes for her. When she was not playing, she stood at his side and he took her arm in his.

From a distance, Sebastian Pérez frowned as he watched the comandante and his daughter hold hands on occasion and intertwine their arms. He was furious because both of them were displaying their affection in public and that was the last thing he wanted.

Of all three girls, Margarita stood out in her distinguished and unique style of playing. The room was so quiet that aside from the music, not another sound was heard. After the girls finished, they stood and curtsied to much applause, especially from the comandante. As Sebastian headed across the room over towards is daughter, Juanita declared that Margarita had a special presentation to make.

Margarita stood in front of the piano bench and looked out at the small crowd. "I would like to play something special because we have among us a man whose talents make him very much a part of our pueblo here in Los Angeles as well as a part of our musical community." She saw her father halt and glare at her. Originally, she had not planned to say anything at all, but now thought another move on the chessboard was due. She turned towards Francisco. "I would like to dedicate this song to my dear friend, Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes, our comandante, who never fails to inspire me."

De las Fuentes was both moved and delighted by her words and bowed low in her direction. There was a murmur of approval by many of those present.

"Here, here," Diego de la Vega called out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sebastian frown in his direction. _If a look could kill_ , thought the young man to himself _, I would have already died a thousand deaths for this small comment_. _But I would do it a hundred times for Margarita’s happiness_.

Margarita quickly launched into a surprise rendition of several selections from the _Appassionata_ by Beethoven and finished with excerpts from his _Pathetique_. She played sensitively and in complete control as if the unpleasant altercation with her father had never taken place. Much of the time she looked up from the musical score and had only eyes for Francisco – and his did not leave hers.

As the last notes sounded the room was silent as if its spectators did not wish to part with the music. Then, slowly the applause built and rolled around the room. Margarita smiled out at everyone as she stood up and curtsied. She turned to De las Fuentes. To her surprise and delight the small officer embraced her with great emotion. It was only the interruption of César Rodriguez, who rushed up with a huge bouquet of flowers that he snatched from one of his own displays and presented to her, that prevented any words between them.

"Magnificent, Margarita! Magnificent!" enthused the Maestro. "You always surpass my expectations and tonight you really outdid yourself!" He turned to the officer. "Comandante! If mere mortals can this fair lady so inspire, think what Heaven can thus acquire!"

"Ah-hmmm," a loud voice boomed in on the conversation. The small group turned to face Sebastian Pérez who had taken the arm of Salvador Muñoz and brought him forward. "That was very nice, Margarita," he said in a voice oozing sincerity. "Salvador, here, is your foremost admirer and he has something special to say to you."

The stocky young man with the pouting lips gave everyone an oily smile. His dark eyes looked Margarita over in an unpleasant manner. "Bravo, Margarita. You know I adore your playing. Señora Rodriguez just told me that their own musicians will begin to play soon and I only wish to dance with you all evening."

Sebastian smirked, thinking to catch his daughter off guard as he watched for a defensive reaction in her.

Francisco de las Fuentes turned toward the young man with a pleasant smile, still holding Margarita’s hand in his. "I regret to inform you, Señor Muñoz, that I have already made that request of Señorita Margarita."

Margarita decided to imitate the officer’s calm and dignified style. Before her father could respond she added. "And I, of course, accepted Francisco’s offer," she smiled addressing the group in general. "There’s no one I would rather dance with more."

As Sebastian began to sputter in protest, César interrupted with "Excellent! For those who have no partners as of yet, there are several young ladies here who need a partner." He took the stunned young man’s arm. "Salvador, you know Señorita Juanita, don’t' you? Well, she’s a fine dancer. You will need much energy to match hers. Did you know that dancing is a fine way to take off those extra pounds?"

Juanita gave Salvador a condescending gaze while her eyes were daggers at Don César. César made haste to whisper in her ear "I will make this up to you, I swear it, Juanita." She gave a small laugh as if he had said something amusing to her and turned to Muñoz. "Do you really dance at all, Señor Muñoz?"

"Yes, I do," he replied lamely, giving the comandante a resentful glare.

Margarita felt relieved that the tables had been turned on Salvador and her father. She decided to look at her father. "Did you know that Padre Felipe told me that Francisco was one of the best dancers at Court?" she asked conversationally.

Sebastian was silent. Francisco was amused. "Ah, but did I ever tell you about the Conde Albani from Italy?" he began. "It’s a rather long story, but…"

"If you will excuse me," Sebastian said hastily and turned away. He did not want to be subjected by another long monologue from the comandante. He did not have the courage to challenge the man directly yet was determined to counter these unexpected roadblocks in his plans for the evening after the dancing was over.

As soon as he left, Francisco dropped the subject and turned to Margarita. "That was not hard to do," he smiled knowing how pleased she was at thwarting the two men’s plans – at least for the time being. "Actually, I wanted to let you know that a very distinguished young man here tonight also plays guitar and piano." Francisco took her arm and they strode over to Diego de la Vega.

Diego was wondering why his father had not shown up at the party and was deciding whether to leave early or not when the comandante’s voice reached his ears.

"Don Diego?" the officer inquired.

Diego turned around and caught sight of his old friend at the captain’s arm. "Yes, Capitán? Oh, good evening, Margarita," he smiled.

"I was just telling Margarita that you are also a musician," De las Fuentes told him.

"A poor one, I’m afraid," Diego answered although she shook her head in disagreement.

"Not poor at all, Diego," Margarita corrected him. "I remember that you do play guitar quite well, including the piano."

"All right, Margarita, " the young man replied. "I do play guitar." He turned to De las Fuentes. "You know, Comandante, I have never heard Margarita perform as well as she did tonight."

The young woman blushed modestly as he praised her. Then he looked the officer in the eye and said casually, "You are very lucky to find such talent, Don Francisco, because I doubt there are many ladies of Margarita’s abilities to be found anywhere."

"Oh, Diego, you are much too kind," she responded, almost embarrassed by his accolades.

"I concur with Don Diego," Francisco agreed, then mused. "You know, as the days go by there is a feeling that we are only beginning to seriously discover this fact."

Margarita was not sure of what he meant by ‘we,’ but Diego nodded in understanding. "Oh, Comandante, if you will excuse me. My father has not made an appearance this evening and I want to find out why."

De las Fuentes looked alarmed. "Would you like me to dispatch some soldiers to your hacienda?" he asked.

"No, no, that’s fine. I am sure that something must have held him up, or perhaps he ran across an old acquaintance," the young man answered. "I am going to give instructions to my mozo to return home and check on my father. He will send word if there are any problems." Diego turned to look for Bernardo who was enjoying himself watching all the guests. Diego heard the comandante say, "If there is trouble, I will come at once."

Margarita turned to Francisco. She felt that now, more than ever, she needed to do what Padre Felipe had told her because the sands of time were running out. "Francisco, may I speak to you in private. There is something that I have to tell you. It's very important."

"Of course, dear," he replied. Together they went out to the front patio. There were only a few people who were drifting between groups of conversationalists.

On the patio was an ornate fountain. Below the wall was a bench. It was the bench that stood before the tree that Margarita had climbed up to Ismaida’s room just the night before. Behind the shadow of the fountain, they found the privacy they sought. Before she could begin, Francisco took her hands in his. "Margarita, dear, tell me exactly what is happening at home with your father and Señor Muñoz."

"My father is determined that I should marry Señor Muñoz and will not accept my refusals," she told him. "My father is becoming very hostile to me because I will not agree to his wishes. He does not wish to understand that I am not interested in Señor Muñoz or any of the men he has brought to me."

"May I ask you why?" Francisco inquired. "Forgive my curiosity but you are a very intelligent and attractive young lady. I cannot imagine anyone not noticing that."

"I forgive you anything, Francisco," she responded. "The truth is that none of them share my love of music. I think they just want me as an ornament, a possession, and I cannot abide that. As for Salvador, I can’t stand him – he is arrogant and cruel, I feel it. Better to wait for the right man to come along or not marry at all."

"And who would be the right man?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes filled with tears and spilled over. She held his hands tightly and he knew the answer without any words. "I’ve never met anyone like you before, Francisco," she told him tearfully. "You are the most cultured and kind man I have ever known." She swallowed hard. "You love music like no one else and I could play for you forever. No one else has ever made me feel the way I do about you. You are the first man I have truly fallen in love with - with all my heart!" She saw nothing but a great tenderness in his eyes for a long moment and then a cloud formed over his face.

He took her hands in his and kissed each of them in turn, then looked deeply into her eyes. "I am deeply honored, dear, very deeply honored. But Margarita, you don't want a broken down old warhorse like me. See, I've had the pox and it has ruined my looks. I can't even dance with you because now I'm a cripple and I walk around deliberately slow so no one will notice. And these are only our _apparent_ defects. I'm just a captain now, a non-entity, an inconsequential rank…"

As he spoke, she placed a hand to his face and caressed a cheek. "Oh, Francisco," she interrupted, "none of that matters to me. Why, you should know that even Beethoven has pock marks." He nodded in acknowledgement saying, "And Mozart," as she continued. "All I see is your kindness and goodness. I feel a link between us because of our love for music and how both of us are so different from the people who surround us." She paused and felt the deep emotion emanating from him by her words. "I have waited for you all of my life."

Francisco felt a tightening in his chest, something he had not felt since the time he lost Isabel. He took her into his arms and hugged her closely. Then he lifted her chin gently and kissed her a very long time. She wrapped her arms around him as well. They stood there a few moments before he spoke very softly in her ear. "Margarita, there is something I need to tell you," he began.

"You’re already married," she finished in a strained voice. "It’s all my fault. I never asked you."

"No, I am not married, dear," he smiled. "It’s not that at all."

She swallowed again and looked up at him. "Is it because you think I’m an old maid? I’m almost twenty-nine." She was quite serious.

He couldn’t help chuckling at that. "Margarita, dearest, believe me, you are no old maid. You are the most delicate rose in the gardens of Allah; an enchanted muse from ancient mythology; a magical spirit; a reincarnation of my forgotten hopes and dreams." He paused. "It’s just that I want you to get to know me better, all my sins. It is only fair to you," he added. "What I was in the past could be as important as what I now appear to be to you and to everyone."

"I don't believe any sins of yours could be bad - past or present, Francisco. Do you believe that someone can be sent to you, someone that you never believed was possible before?" she asked him intently. "That is what I see in you. You are all my hopes, even my salvation, Francisco. I just know it."

He smiled somewhat sadly. "You will come to church tomorrow morning, won’t you?" he asked. "I go there every day. It has been a place of refuge for me – for body and soul. I want to tell you why. Only there will I be able to relate to you a story about a tragedy that reaches from the battlefields of war into the royal court in Madrid and beyond – even here to the shores of the Américas. After I tell you, I want you to think about it. Then let’s see if both of us can find answers to the questions in our hearts."

Margarita nodded uncertainly. She was mystified but felt she had not lost him. There was something that was troubling him and she believed it did not have anything to do with her at all. She heard the sound of the music from the sala. He listened as well. De las Fuentes looked into her eyes and commented, "It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And I couldn’t wish more than at this moment that I could dance with you the way I once did in the courts of Spain."

She smiled and squeezed his hands. "I know you can still dance, Francisco," she told him. "It really doesn't matter whether we can move across the floor or not. I just want to be in your arms and for us to be out here together in the moonlight."

"Then we will dance," he declared and took her hands. Both of them moved slowly and he put his cheek next to hers as they moved closer together.

"Do you want to know something, Francisco?" she whispered in his ear.

"What is that, dear?" he responded.

"I received the most wonderful gift today."

"Did it please you?"

"It's the next best thing that has ever happened to me," she told him.

He smiled, knowing she was delighted with the piano. "And what was the best thing that has ever happened to you?" he asked.

"Meeting you, Francisco."

He halted in mid-step, deeply moved by her words and her sincerity. He kissed her very tenderly on the lips. They then kissed again with much affection, oblivious to the rest of the world and to the eyes that watched them from afar.

Salvador Muñoz watched the comandante and Margarita Pérez dance from the doors of the sala. He was filled with envy and jealousy. He remarked aloud, "I don't understand what she sees in him. He isn't such a great dancer after all."

Diego de la Vega appeared from behind him. "What a happy thing it is to see two people who care for each other the way Margarita and the comandante do," he commented. When Muñoz gave him a displeased look, Diego added, "I am sure that no one would want to marry Margarita knowing that she is in love with another man. That wouldn't be right, would it?"  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 17](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante17.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	17. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter 17

Don Felix Munoz and his wife, Ines, were not blind to the fact that Margarita was not interested in their son at all. The thin, graying merchant had watched Pérez's attempts to bring Margarita and Salvador together for dancing fall flat. He motioned his wife over to the door of the patio and for a short while they observed the comandante and Margarita dance and watched them kiss. "We now have all the evidence we need," he remarked to his wife. She nodded. Felix approached his son who had given up dancing with the fleet-footed Juanita who had complained loudly about his stepping on her feet. Salvador had walked away from Juanita in frustration. He turned when he heard the voice of his father say, "Salvador, may I see you a moment?"

The father faced his son and was frank. "Despite Sebastian's good intentions regarding matching Margarita with you, we think this is not a good idea. It is obvious to us that she is in love with someone else," Felix told him in no uncertain terms. "I see no reason to keep on pursuing this."

"She's just infatuated with a musical army officer, that's all. There's more at stake here, Father," the young man sputtered. "After all, I'm the one who proposed!" he argued.

"And she has turned you down twice now," his father reminded him. "You yourself told us that she avoids you like the plague and will only call you 'Señor Muñoz'."

"Oh, that," Salvador responded nonchalantly, "she is just playing hard to get. Lots of women act like that when they are really flattered to get the attention. Besides, a desperate woman like her is almost beyond the marrying stage. She should be grateful I proposed." He watched as Sebastian Pérez made his way out to the patio. A minute later, he returned almost dragging Margarita behind him. At her side was the comandante of Los Angeles who had a rather grim look on his face. He watched the officer say something to Margarita and she nodded.

"Don Sebastian is going to make an announcement," he declared. "I think you will be gratified to hear it, Father." He turned away and strode over to join Pérez and his reluctant daughter.

Most people were still chatting and dancing when Sebastian Pérez raised his voice. On his left was Salvador Muñoz. On his right was his daughter, Margarita, and next to her was the comandante.

"Attention, attention," said Sebastian. "I want to make a very happy announcement." He tone was exuberant. He was at his flamboyant best.

As the guests crowded around, Pérez looked like a strutting peacock. César Rodriguez walked within a few feet of the small group, wanting to be as close as possible to Pérez because he feared trouble. Diego de la Vega came up behind the comandante to support him if necessary, but the officer was totally focused on Margarita. Her hands were trembling.

"I am very happy to announce," Sebastian began, "the betrothal of my daughter, Margarita, to Salvador Muñoz." He looked very pleased with himself and looked out at the crowd in great expectation.

There was a long silence. The silence was so long that he began to get a dismayed look on his face. He did not know that most of the guests had heard that Margarita was in love with the comandante - César Rodriguez had told them so. A few of the guests began to say ‘congratulations,’ but it was half-hearted.

"If you are against this," Francisco whispered in her ear urgently, "then you had better say so now or you are lost forever."

Margarita stepped forward. "I will NOT marry Salvador Muñoz!" she declared in a loud voice. "I have said this before and I will say it again. I will not now or ever marry Salvador Muñoz!"

Sebastian Pérez exploded. "You will marry whom I tell you to," he shouted, turning to face her. His face was red with anger and embarrassment.

"I will never marry him, never," she repeated defiantly.

It happened so quickly that no one was prepared; that is almost no one. In his anger, Sebastian Pérez raised his hand and swept it in a slap across her face. But his slap did not reach its intended target. Francisco de las Fuentes saw what was coming and stepped right in front of Margarita. He took the full force of the blow across the face.

There was a shocked silence from everyone, then gasps of astonishment and dismay. Diego was startled at how quickly the prince had moved - faster than he anticipated. "Your Excellency!" Diego exclaimed in a voice full of concern.

César Rodriguez uttered a reprimand of "Sebastian!" Even Pérez seemed stunned for he lowered his hand quickly. Nonetheless he glowered at the officer for taking the punishment meant for Margarita.

Margarita looked shocked. "Oh, Francisco," she whispered in dismay and her eyes filled with tears.

The comandante's face began to turn red with the force of the blow, but he stoically remained calm. "If you _ever_ attempt to harm Margarita again," he said to Pérez in a quiet but icy tone of voice, "I will meet you on the field of honor. Do I make myself clear?" With his deep baritone, the threat seemed even more ominous than mere words could convey.

"How dare you interfere…" began Sebastian in a fury.

Don Felix Muñoz suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He stepped into the fray. "Sebastian, Sebastian," he said in an urgent tone, taking the man's arm. "Just one moment please." He held up a hand. "I need to say something important." Everyone's attention moved to the graying merchant in black. "Sebastian, old friend, take this well. I know you have the best of intentions in wanting Margarita to marry our son, Salvador. We love Margarita like a daughter. But, it is apparent to me that Margarita's heart lies elsewhere and, as fond as we are of her, it would be much better for her to follow her heart, not someone else's." He turned to his son. "This is our final word on the matter." He shook Pérez' s hand as if bidding him farewell. Pérez looked stunned at this turn of events.

As Felix Muñoz turned to leave, Francisco de las Fuentes caught his arm. "Señor Muñoz," he said in a very sincere manner, "you are a noble gentleman."

"Your Excellency," Muñoz responded, "I know of no greater act of love than for a man like you to take a blow intended for someone else. You have my respect and best wishes."

"What the devil did he mean by that?" Sebastian asked Salvador in an undertone. "You didn't tell me that your father knows De las Fuentes."

Salvador shrugged at the exchange between his father and the comandante. "He does not…. as far as I know," Salvador responded. "They've never spoken to each other before tonight." He was puzzled. Still, he was angry at the turn of events and he looked resentfully at the woman who had quickly left his side.

The crowd began to mill about and the Don César had the musicians start the music again. Some couples began to dance, others formed in circles to discuss what had just happened, and others began to leave, but everyone was talking.

Sebastian looked around. He had been humiliated publicly by his daughter, by the comandante, and by the man he wished to impress the most, Felix Muñoz. Well, this would not be the end of it. Margarita would pay for her insolence regardless of the comandante's threat. De las Fuentes’ "interference" in a family situation further infuriated Sebastian. He turned to take Margarita in hand but found she was in deep conversation with De las Fuentes. Her hand was caressing his face where he had received the blow. He turned around to find another object for his wrath - María. She stood off to the side and had watched everything, not even raising her voice to protest her daughter's public refusal to marry Salvador. "María!" he barked, "come over here. We are going to leave."

She came over at once and her face was expressionless. Sebastian imagined she was pleased by the turn of events. "See what you have done," he accused. "This is all your fault."

"I told you many times, Sebastian, that Margarita would not marry Salvador. But you do not want to listen. I am glad that Felix recognized the truth. You need to do the same," she replied.

"You ungrateful daughter of a nonentity," he retorted with gritted teeth. "You have always tried to thwart my plans and as you sow, so shall you reap!" He expected her to respond with a terrified look, but she was utterly calm as if she had made her peace with death. This angered him further but all he said was, "Go get your daughter and bring her with us. We are leaving!"

"My deepest regrets, Señora," Francisco told María when she informed him that she was reluctantly escorting Margarita back home. "I wish that this did not have to happen the way it did, but I believe, in the end, it will be best for everyone."

"Do not apologize, Capitán," María replied sincerely, "it is I who must apologize for my husband's barbarous behavior. I am only sorry that you suffered for it as well." She hesitated a moment. "Don Francisco, I want you to know that I think you are the most remarkable man I have ever met. I am very proud of Margarita. She is all that I would like to be - true to her convictions and not afraid to stand up for what she believes is right. You have no idea how much I admire her." María had tears in her eyes and Margarita hugged her.

"Doña María," Francisco said with conviction. "Always remember this - that you, in no small way, have contributed to the strength and character of your daughter. I hope you will recognize that in her success lies your own."

"And I, Don Francisco, understand better than I ever have, why Margarita loves you so much," María finished.

"I only hope that I am worthy of such love," he responded. He kissed the hands of both women and added, "I look forward to seeing the both of you again soon."

\-----------------------------------

Diego de la Vega looked troubled as he paced outside on the Rodriguez patio waiting impatiently for the return of his mozo, Bernardo. It must have been two hours since he had been dispatched to the De la Vega hacienda to find out the reason for Don Alejandro’s absence from the party. The moon was high in the sky overhead, providing the studious observer with a clear view of its distant craters and dark mountains. A pale halo of soft light surrounded the luminous orb, but Diego was in no mood to appreciate its strange and compelling beauty.

Capitán de las Fuentes was taking his leave of the Rodriguez family, complementing the girls on their playing and Don César and Doña Ramona on their marvelous displays and the entertainment. He apologized for any embarrassment they may have suffered on account of the unfortunate incident of the evening, but César shook his head. "Not at all, Capitán," he said shaking his head. "I was pleased to intervene any way that I could as well. What you did was right. You know, I admire Margarita a great deal because of her courage to say no at a time like this and under the kind of pressure she has had to endure. Not too many women could act so decisively."

"It is one of her many remarkable qualities," Francisco agreed. He glanced off to the patio. "If you will excuse me, I see that Don Diego is still waiting for his servant to return. I hope you will forgive me if I must depart in order to inquire whether he is in need of some assistance." Everyone took their bows and the officer headed over to the fidgeting young man.

"Thank you, Comandante," Diego responded to the small man’s inquiries. "The hour is late and my mozo has not returned with our carriage. I am concerned because of the amount of time he has been away. But perhaps he is on the road now." He gave a small sigh. "I think your idea for a nightcap at the cuartel is not a bad one."

With these words, the two men headed toward the cuartel. After a small glass of brandy, the officer offered to ride out with Diego to the hacienda.

"You don’t need to come, Comandante," Diego insisted, noting the late hour, but the officer indicated his continuing concern.

"If Señor Enríquez is making good on his threats," De las Fuentes reminded him, "then he may have struck this evening. I will leave Sergeant García in charge of the cuartel and bring Corporal Reyes with me in case there is trouble."

"If there is trouble, Capitán, would it not be best to bring a few more men?" asked Diego. "It may take more than just two soldiers. From what I understand, it took a number of men just to subdue him the first time in jail."

"I am confident that Corporal Reyes and I can handle the situation," De las Fuentes replied. "The other soldiers are out on patrol of the pueblo. It is important that the town be secured by night. Unfortunately, our garrison is a very small one. If I need more men, then I will ask the rancheros for volunteers from among their servants."

"You will certainly have our cooperation in that regard, Comandante," Diego assured him. "Enríquez could be a threat to more than just the men he robbed."

Within a few minutes, three men headed on horseback out of the pueblo of Los Angeles and into the dark, moonlit road that headed south towards the De la Vega hacienda.

\----------------------------------------------

Margarita turned the key in her room door. It was not the first time that she feared her father’s anger. But tonight, she feared for her mother the most. She spent an hour with her ear to the bedroom door, listening to the sounds of curses, weeping, and the crashing of furniture that came from up the hall. Her hands trembled as she finally removed her hands from the door and made her way to her bed.

The single candle burned its way down gradually as she tried to force her mind into more pleasant thoughts – thoughts of her music and how, captured in its magical realm, she removed herself from the painful thoughts of the present and entered another world that few others had gained access to.

And she daydreamed about dancing with Capitán de las Fuentes and looking into his blue eyes that seemed so kind and understanding. If it had not been for her father, she would have worn her most cheerful colors and golden jewelry, but she had dressed in mourning. Thank all the Saints that Francisco never seemed to notice her somber attire, she thought, but only gazed into her eyes and shared that spiritual bond that no one else seemed to understand. Unlike the arrogant Salvador Muñoz who enjoyed contemplating a power over her she would never recognize or accede to, she liked the fact that Francisco never assumed a condescending or superior attitude, something that she had not expected in a military officer. _I feel I’ve become a better and stronger person ever since I met Francisco_ , she thought. _Not only that, everything I believe in has been affirmed by our mutual love of music and what it means to us._

And out on a dark, dirt road known as the El Camino Real, three riders hurried toward the Hacienda de la Vega. None of them spoke because each was immersed in his own thoughts. The short corporal was being vigilant, watching the bushes, trees and outcrops while playing the rearguard to the two men who rode slightly ahead of him.

Capitán de las Fuentes found his thoughts drifting to the party and to the enchanting Margarita who played so delightfully. Although Ismaida and Juanita had played well, their performances had been greatly overshadowed by the power and sensitivity of the woman whose clothes were black but whose inner being shone with all the power and passion that she could muster for her performance. _I have never been so enchanted by a lady_ , he thought, _since Isabel_. A _lthough not a princess of the blood, Margarita is a princess nonetheless, like the fairy tale of Cinderella who, though dressed in rags, was the dream-come-true of another prince in despair_. He forced himself to think of what might lie in store for them should they arrive and encounter Joaquín Enríquez.

Diego de la Vega was somber. The carriage had not returned to the pueblo although the soldiers had watched for it while he had his drink with the comandante. Neither had they come across a rider or anyone on the road that led to home. Diego’s restless eyes strained to find any indication that there had been an accident or that his faithful friend had been waylaid by the madman Enríquez.

When the three riders finally rode up to the gate of his home, they saw that the one-horse carriage was still waiting outside the high wall of the hacienda. All three men dismounted. Diego turned to the officer. "I will go to check my father’s room upstairs. Could you please check the sala?" The officer nodded to the corporal who unslung his rifle.

Diego was the first through the gate. As he headed upstairs to his father's room, he saw candlelight coming from the sala windows. But the upstairs was dark. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw that the door to his father's room on the right was open. "Father? He called. "Father, are you in here?" He entered the room cautiously.

The embers in the fireplace still shone faintly and Diego knelt to fire up the candle that always stood on the hearth. As the glow began to transform the room from darkness into light, he saw the disorder in the room. From the other side of the bed there was a low moan. His father was just sitting up on the floor and rubbing the side of his head. "Diego?" he muttered as if in a daze.

"Father, are you all right?" the young man asked in great concern as he knelt by Alejandro and helped him up to the bed. "What happened? Was it Enríquez?"

"I’ll be all right, son," the white-bearded don answered slowly. He put his hand to his forehead. "I was just about to leave for the fiesta in town, when I came back up here to my room. Enríquez must have been watching for my departure. He was fast, very fast, Diego. I caught him in my room by surprise. He was taking the old snuffbox. Since he was armed and I was not, I made a simple request that he not take that particular one. He did not seem particularly inclined to want to respect my wishes."

"What happened?" Diego asked. "Did he beat you?"

"No, Diego. I grappled with him over your mother's snuffbox, insisting that he take any other one, " Alejandro explained. "I am strong, but he has the strength of a wild man and overpowered me. He hit me on the head with the butt of his pistol." The don paused. "Would you believe that as he did so, he apologized?"

"Apologized?" Diego looked incredulous. "He tore apart your room, he beat you, then hit you over the head, then apologized?" Diego was angry that anyone would harm his father. "Are you certain? Perhaps the blow on your head affected you more than you think."

"I am sure that he did so, Diego," his father insisted, "but I am going to lie down a while. I still feel a little dizzy."

Diego helped his father stretch out on the bed. "Where is Bernardo? Did you see him return earlier? I was worried about you and sent him home about three hours ago."

"No, son, I have been here the entire time. But three hours? I must have been unconscious for a very long time."

There was a movement at the door. Diego looked up. Corporal Reyes stood there. "Don Diego?" he inquired.

"Just a moment, Father," Diego told his father. "This might be about Bernardo. I'll be back to check on you." He hurried over to the door, then closed the door behind him.

"What is it, Corporal?"

"The comandante and I found your servant, Bernardo," the soldier began.

"Bernardo," repeated Diego in great concern. He began heading down the stairs rapidly with the soldier trying to keep up. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

"I think so, Don Diego," Reyes answered. "He was all tied up."

Diego took long strides into the sala and looked around. "Well, where is he?" he asked impatiently.

"In the kitchen," the corporal answered. Both men made their way past the door to the library and down a step into the kitchen. There they found Bernardo sitting in a chair. He had been untied and given a wet cloth. The mozo was patting his face with it. He looked a bit dazed.

De las Fuentes appeared as if he had been trying to speak with the man. He looked up as Diego entered the room. "I'm afraid I have been unable to communicate with him," the officer told the young man. "He seems oblivious to my questions and has not uttered a sound."

"Bernardo neither hears nor speaks, Comandante," Diego told him. "You did not know this."

"Ah," responded De las Fuentes. "Then how do you propose we question him? If he is literate, perhaps he could write down what took place this evening."

"We use sign language to communicate, Capitán," Diego explained. "Bernardo has taught me far more than I have taught him. He will be able to tell me what happened here."

The captain looked thoughtful a moment. "How remarkable," he commented. Then he asked, "Did you find your father? Is he unharmed?"

"My father is going to be all right, Capitán, thank you. He just needs to rest," replied Diego. "Señor Enríquez was here and attacked him, just as he said he would, in order to take back the snuff box. He hit my father on the head and knocked him out." He paused. "You know, if Enríquez is on the move, then would it not be a good idea to see if he has visited Don Leon or the Rodriguez family?"

De las Fuentes nodded. "If you are in no further need of assistance, then Corporal Reyes and I will take our leave of you and proceed to the ranchos of Don Leon and Señor Villa."

"We will be fine, Comandante. Only be very careful. Enríquez knows his way around and he is very fast. My father says he was armed with a pistol."

"Thank you for this information," De las Fuentes responded. "I have been reluctant to consider Señor Enríquez dangerous, but it would seem that this attack would confirm that he may be in a state of possession." When he saw Diego raise his eyebrows at that, he added, "I know of no other term by which to describe this malady."

"Capitán, you are trying to be very humane in regard to Señor Enríquez, but please do not endanger your life unnecessarily," Diego told him. "There is too much at stake now to underestimate what he might do."

"Thank you for your courtesy, Don Diego," Francisco replied. "We are mindful of your advice and shall be vigilant." With that the small man turned to the corporal. "Let us go,

Reyes."

With the departure of the two men, Diego turned to Bernardo, who was looking very eager to explain what had happened.

"All right, Bernardo. But first, are you all right?"

Bernardo nodded vigorously in the affirmative. He pointed to his jaw.

"He punched you out?" Diego asked.

The mozo nodded again vigorously and rubbed his chin. Then he indicated his arms as if they were bound.

"Then he tied you up," his young master concluded.

After his gesturing ended, the mozo showed Diego what else had been stolen in the kitchen – the missing wine and foodstuffs, fruits and vegetables, even candles.

After the young man appraised the situation he shook his head. "You know, Bernardo, all of this seems very strange. I can understand stealing food and drink - I hold that against no man. But to beat my father and take my mother’s gift to him? No, Bernardo, this I cannot permit. Nor can I permit him to do the same to our friends and neighbors." The young man paused. "I want you to go upstairs and be with my father. As for me, it is time, Bernardo. It is time for Zorro to ride."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 18](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante18.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	18. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter 18**

Somewhere in one of the hundreds of box canyons that shaped and formed the hilly landscape outside of the pueblo of Los Angeles, a black horse and caped rider emerged from the tangled vegetation that obscured the hidden caverns far below the De la Vega hacienda. The moonlight was bright that night and cast strange shadows over a landscape alive with nocturnal beasts and men on the move. A chilly night breeze swept along the valley floors, moaning and whispering its presence among the grasses, reeds, leaves and stones.

Along the rock-strewn hillside, through the green grasses of late fall rains, a fleet-footed stallion made his way past towering oaks and prickly brush. A band of raccoons, dipping their claws in a flowing arroyo, paused and raised themselves high on their haunches, listening and smelling the wind. A herd of grazing deer lifted their heads and watched the shadow of a horse speed across the meadow until it was lost among the oaks and pines that covered the hillocks down to the valley floor.

Beyond the volcanic and granitic outcrops that bordered the Torres rancho, lay the haciendas of Don Leon Santos and further to the west, the rancho Villa. As el Zorro approached the Santos hacienda through the hills, he could see torchlights and men searching the immediate area. He eased Tornado through the rocks and brush, close enough to hear, but not to be seen.

"It’s too dark to follow a trail, Paco, despite the moonlight," he heard one man tell another. "It would be better to begin at dawn."

"Don Leon won’t be happy to hear this, but it is the most practical approach," replied the other.

A third man offered, "There is broken brush, but it is hard to say what it could be caused by, probably a herd of deer."

El Zorro knew that Enríquez had already paid an unwelcome call on Don Leon. His next stop would be at the home of the Villas. He hoped that the family had missed the robber due to the Rodriguez party in town, but he needed to know. If Enríquez had struck, then he had a hideout and, if so, it could not be too far. Still, it would be an enormous amount of territory to cover, but el Zorro had his own ideas on where the madman might be. As he headed through the hills he saw the figures of two men on horseback approach the high walls of the Santos hacienda. He knew it was the comandante and corporal and he guessed that De las Fuentes would take a full report before proceeding to the Villa rancho.

"Come, Tornado," El Zorro whispered, encouraging the black stallion forward. "Perhaps we can get to the Villa hacienda before Señor Enríquez makes his appearance."

******************

The Juan Villa carriage bumped its way along the dirt road. Within the carriage, all the excited talk was what had occurred at the party. No one felt the least bit sorry for Sebastian Pérez or Salvador Muñoz. In fact, Teresa Villa told them, it had been rumored for a long time that Sebastian had beat his wife. Everyone saw that he did not hesitate to try to strike his daughter in public and that incident rather confirmed the old gossip.

Juanita had an especially good time telling everyone how Salvador walked on her feet while dancing and how she loved complaining loudly to further embarrass him. He kept twisting around to see where Margarita and the captain had gone. Juanita had silently gloated at his defeat at the hands of her best friend and the comandante, she confided.

"You might have been nicer to Salvador," commented her father. "After all, he’s never done anything to you and we don’t need to rub salt into the wound."

"Oh, Father, you just don’t know Salvador," Juanita insisted. "He’s not just a useless bore, you should know how he has treated Margarita – just like she is a cow. Nobody wants to be treated like that and he needed to be taken down a few notches. Besides, I don’t want him to think that just because he can’t get Margarita, he could come after me next!"

"Nevertheless, he certainly ate his fill of crow tonight," he replied. "Watching the interplay from the back of the room, I had the feeling that César was protecting Margarita as well."

"I was proud of the comandante," interjected Teresa. "Imagine an aristocrat stepping forward like that. And what control he displayed. You know the old proverb – ‘Obras son amores, que no buenas razones’ - 'Love is deeds, not just words.'"

Juanita’s twin, Josefina, spoke up. "Everyone knows Margarita is in love with Capitán de las Fuentes. I was glad to see him show he’s in love with her, too." She looked at her mother. "Did you hear the gossip that he is a prince?"

"Where did you hear that?" asked her mother.

Juan answered. "Somebody said Señor Pacheco started that rumor, but I don’t think that likely. What would a prince be doing in California? As for Sebastian, you know how much he has tried to marry Margarita off to Muñoz because of the family money."

Teresa turned to her husband. "Don Sebastian has no time for that kind of talk anyway," she told him. "I doubt whether he would believe it if he heard it. If you can’t show the gold to Sebastian, then he keeps his nose in the air."

"Margarita calls him a prince, of course," Juanita said. "But she does not mean it like he is royalty, only that he is such a unique man."

Everyone was quiet a moment. Then Juan Villa found himself frowning after looking out the carriage window. "I know it’s late, but look, there is hardly a light coming from the hacienda. Not even the torches have been lit outside the wall for our return. I can’t believe that Manuel would have forgotten to do that."

As the carriage pulled up to the great oak entrance and the driver called out "Hallo! Manuel, are you here?" Hearing no answer, he climbed down and tried the gate.

Juan Villa stuck his head out of the carriage window and watched the driver.

The man turned to Villa. "The gate is open, Señor Juan," he reported.

"That is odd," remarked the ranchero. He turned to his wife and daughters. "I’d like you to stay here a moment until Jorge and I inspect the premises." He stepped out of the carriage. "Jorge, come with me. I think we need to see if everything is all right inside." With that, the two men disappeared inside the gate. Within a few minutes they returned.

"Is anything wrong?" asked Teresa Villa.

"No one seems to be at home, but everything is quiet," replied her husband. "Perhaps Manuel is with his wife in the back or upstairs. The candles are lit."

"That is it," Teresa replied. "Lupe has been ill lately, so he is probably with her." She turned towards the twins. "I think we can go inside now, girls."

Juanita raced her sister indoors, laughing, and headed toward the sala. "I’m going to play some more tonight," she announced. "I feel so happy for Margarita." Josefina joined her, nodding.

Teresa followed the girls into the sala and draped her shawl over a chair. "It’s a little late, Juanita, but I did like the piece you played tonight. Could you play it again?"

"Of course, Mama," Juanita responded, and began to arrange the music sheets.

Juan Villa headed toward the study to get the pistol out of his desk drawer. He had a feeling of foreboding because Jorge had not yet returned with Manuel and things seemed too quiet. As he began to turn the knob to the door, he heard his wife call out, "Juan, could you come into the sala a moment?" He turned and headed back to the sala. When he arrived, he saw his wife standing next to the mantle by the fireplace.

"What is it, dear?" he asked.

"Look," she said. "Our silver candlesticks are missing \- the ones that were stolen by Señor Enríquez just last month."

Her husband did not want to alarm the girls, so he said casually. "Let’s first check with Lupe to see if she took them down for polishing. You know how quickly silver tarnishes." He saw the doubtful look on her face. "I’m going into the study to check on things. Why don’t you girls play some more music before we retire? Music in the house is so cheerful." He headed back toward the study and stopped at a table outside to light a candle. He entered the darkened room.

Juan Villa was halfway to the desk when he heard a step in back of him from behind the door. He turned and saw the form of a man. In the man’s right hand was a pistol. The man had a smile on his face and his teeth were large and white. Juan stopped. "I see that you have returned, Señor Enríquez. Are you here to rob us again?" he asked.

"Put the candle down on the desk, Señor Villa," Enríquez told him. "And don’t bother opening the desk drawer. Your pistol is in my hand." He paused. "Don’t attempt to cry out or I might have to use this. It will be better for everyone if you just cooperate. Now, just return the way you came. If there is any trouble, I will take someone hostage. Do you understand?"

"I do," responded Juan. "I do not believe that any material possessions are worth the taking of anyone’s life. Before we go, I want to know if you harmed my servants, Manuel and his wife, Lupe."

"No one is hurt, Señor Villa," replied Enríquez. "I give you my word on that." He saw doubt in the man’s face. "If you don’t believe me, well, that’s just too bad." He motioned Villa out the door. Both men moved silently toward the sala.

It was at that moment that Juanita began to play "Für Elise." She looked up at her mother as she played. "I had to play this one first since it is Margarita and Capitán de las Fuentes’ favorite." She played on, barely noticing the two men enter the room.

Teresa turned casually away from the piano and smiled as Juan entered the room. She looked again as she saw the grim look on his face and noticed a man following him. She gasped when the man raised the pistol up for her to see. Juanita finished playing and looked up and gasped herself as the man gestured her father forward.

"That was very nice, Señorita Villa," the stranger told her. "Why don’t you continue playing?"

"It’s very hard to play when you have a gun pointed at my father," she exclaimed.

Enríquez grinned. "I like honesty," he told her. "You don’t have to play. Why don’t you two ladies just sit," he gestured at Josefina who sat down on the bench next to Juanita. He pointed at María, "Out of deference to the comandante’s good taste in music and yours," he said, "just stick that nice little statue in my bag." He pointed to a statue of the Virgin holding the dead Christ in her lap. "I won’t trouble you for anything else."

The woman reluctantly took the statue off a table next to the wall and put it in a leather bag that he handed her. The missing candlesticks were inside the bag.

Enríquez nodded and told Juan Villa, "Sit over there on the couch. Your wife and I are going to go out the door to my horse. If anyone follows me, I’ll shoot her. If not, then she will return to the sala, understand?"

Teresa looked very frightened and glanced at her husband. "Juan, I’m afraid."

"Don’t take my mama," Juanita spoke up. "Take me instead."

"Hush, Juanita," her mother and father responded in consternation. "I’ll go," Teresa said and began to move toward the man in the short black jacket.

"You’re very brave, Señorita Villa," Enríquez commented. "I like that. It would be better if the little Señorita came along after all." When her mother and father began to protest, he waved the gun at them. "Just sit down on the couch, Señora," he told her. He waved Juanita over. "Come on then. And remember, I’ll shoot." He scooped up the bag and handed it to Juanita.

As the two made their way out the front door, Enríquez took the bag from her. "Why did

you volunteer to take your mother’s place?" he asked her. "Aren’t you afraid of the consequences?"

"No," she replied. "You see, your gun is not loaded. It’s not even cocked." She paused. "My father and mother did not pay any attention to this. No one did. They are too worried to notice the details."

Enríquez looked surprised and impressed. "That’s right, little lady. You are observant, quite observant. So, now answer my question. Why did you volunteer to take your mother’s place?"

"I wanted to ask you why you are stealing only the candlesticks and the statue. You might have taken much more."

"Is that all?" he responded in amusement. "Did you want me to take more?"

"No," Juanita replied. "I just want to know why."

"I like you, girl," he replied. "If you want to know the truth, I’m not stealing these at all. I’m just borrowing them."

"Borrowing them?" the young woman asked in astonishment. "You mean you plan to give them back? Why?"

"That’s my secret," he told her as he led her around the dark side of the hacienda. "Just stay here till I climb over the wall. Then you can go back inside." With that, he pulled the straps of the bag over his shoulder. He went to the wall and placed upright a ladder that had been lying on the ground. When he reached the top, he sat momentarily on the high wall, then shoved the ladder back so that it fell into the yard. Then he disappeared into the night.

Juanita stood there a moment before she noticed that she was perspiring profusely. She wiped her hands on her skirt several times to dry them and thought a moment about what she had done and what he had said. Her boldness almost frightened her but she had been afraid for her mother who had been so fearful. She thought that if she volunteered herself, the man would do her no harm because of her age. How lucky for her that she had noticed the pistol was not cocked. Her father had taught her and Josefina how to shoot and she was very observant. She was counting on these clues to prove that the stranger had not really planned any violence and her instinct had been right. The chilly night breeze began to take effect and she began to shiver. As she turned back towards the house and a nearby lighted window, she saw a dark shadow move toward her from the front of the building. "Father?" she called a little nervously. "Is that you, Father?"

"No, Señorita Villa," a cultivated voice answered her from the shadows. A tall figure moved closer. "Do not be afraid."

As she moved toward the light, the dark figure came into view. Juanita Villa gasped in surprise, "Señor Zorro!"

\----------------------------------------------------------

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes did not linger at the Leon Santos hacienda. As a matter of fact, it was one of the few times that he had been rather brusque in taking a report and leaving abruptly with a brief apology to the ranchero who wanted to supply every detail of the items stolen. "Please come into the pueblo to file a full report tomorrow morning," the officer requested. "Since Señor Enríquez was just here recently, we have a better chance of intercepting him in this vicinity by following up with our pursuit." With that he rode off. Don Leon shrugged and consoled his wife who was upset that the comandante had not been interested in the value of the stolen items or the fact that they had been stolen out of her bedroom or the mess the thief had left.

It would be another fifteen-minute gallop to the Villa rancho from the Santos lands and De las Fuentes felt there was no time to spare. He was not sure what Enríquez was up to but it was a curious matter, he thought briefly, that he was only stealing particular items and not just everything he could get. But then, Joaquín Enríquez was an enigma in more ways than one.

Little did the officer know that a mere ten minutes up the trail, a man in black had taken a shortcut through the wide meadows and groves of closely growing young oaks and scrub brush and arrived at a quiet hacienda.

Climbing over a long wall at the back of the hacienda, he dropped onto the ground as nimble as a cat and looked around cautiously. There were a few candles burning in the main part of the house, but it was a noise in the back that drew his attention. As he made his way toward the noise, he heard the arrival of horses out in front. He understood at once that the Villas had arrived home, but he would check out the sounds first.

He came to a small cottage in the rear of the hacienda from where the sounds were emanating from. The cottage was surrounded by a garden of vegetables. El Zorro made his way to the porch and looked in through the front windows. The door to the cabin was wide open. There was no one in the main room although the fire burned in the fireplace. From within he heard a loud thumping. Drawing his sword, he carefully entered the domicile. The thumping was coming from behind a door.

"Who is there?" the masked man called through the door. "What is happening?"

The thumping stopped at once. "Help, help," called a woman's voice weakly. "We have been locked in."

The man in black looked around quickly and spotted a key on top of the fireplace mantel. He resheathed his sword and put the key into the lock.

"Do not be alarmed. I found the key and am unlocking the door," El Zorro announced. He opened the door and saw a man and woman. The woman was in bed and her husband was tied to a chair. He was just behind the door and had been using his feet to kick on the door.

"Señor Zorro," Manuel Jaras exclaimed as a bandana was removed from his mouth. "Thank heaven you are here."

"Señora, are you all right?" asked the man in black as he untied the man in the chair. The woman in the bed nodded but lay back on her pillow in exhaustion. Then he asked, "Who did this to you?"

"We are fine, Señor Zorro," the man began. "I was in the back checking on my wife. She has been very weak from an illness. I heard someone come into the room. It was Señor Enríquez, the man who robbed Don Juan just last month. He had a gun. He tied me up in this chair and then locked the door."

"When did this happen?" El Zorro inquired

"Some little time ago," Manuel told him. "Perhaps within the hour."

"Did Señor Enríquez rob you?" asked the masked man.

"No, Señor Zorro. He just overpowered me and tied me up. I had not yet lit the torches for the return of Señor Juan and his family, when I heard something odd here in the back. When I came into the cabin, Enríquez overpowered me after a struggle. I think he went into the main house after that."

"If you will excuse me, I think I need to go there now," the man in black told him.

The man still looked dazed. "Do you want me to come with you, Señor?"

"Señor Enríquez may be armed. I would not want anything to happen to you. Stay here until someone is sent to let you know."

Manuel nodded and looked over at his wife who nodded at him from her bed. "I will do as you say, Señor Zorro."

***************

Jorge Sosa stood in the front room still rubbing his head from the blow he had received while on the way to Manuel’s cottage. He had gone to the back while Juan Villa had gone back to the carriage. He did not remember how long he was out, but when he came to, he found Señor Zorro leaning over him and helping him to his feet. Then the masked man disappeared around the side of the house. Jorge decided to report to the ranchero what had happened. Upon entering the hacienda, he found the family gathered around their daughter Juanita who had just come inside. She was full of excited news.

"And that is when Señor Zorro appeared," she told them. "I told him that he should know that Señor Enríquez only stole two items; that he made a big secret of it and that he said he was only ‘borrowing’ them. Then, I told him that Señor Enríquez had just disappeared over the wall."

"Only borrowing?" her mother asked incredulously.

"And what else did Señor Zorro say?" asked her father.

"Señor Zorro thanked me for the information. He made a loud whistle and then his black stallion galloped in through the gate. He leaped up into the saddle, saying ‘You have been of great help, Señorita Villa. And do not worry. Señor Enríquez will not trouble you again.’ With that, he was off like the wind. I hardly believed that it happened."

The ranchero turned to Jorge. "My man, are you all right?"

The coachman nodded. "A little headache, Señor. Do you wish me to check on Manuel?"

"Yes, let's do that. I want to find out what happened. " Before leaving, he turned to his daughter. "Juanita, you frightened us by going with that bandit. Promise me that you will never again do such a thing."

Juanita reluctantly shook her head. "But if I had not, I would have never met El Zorro!"

\-----------------------

The late night air was damp and chilly as the fogs began to meander their way down the hills and across the wide meadows. Far out along the coast, from the endless stretches of ocean, like a dark, ominous blanket, the clouds poured relentlessly inland, silent and cold. High above, the moonlight both illuminated as well as helped to obscure the landforms far below.

Three riders were in pursuit of a refugee. Coming down the road from the Santos rancho, Capitán de las Fuentes spotted a man coming toward him on horseback. It was Joaquín Enriquez.

"Señor Enríquez, this is Capitán de las Fuentes. Please come to a halt." When he saw that the fugitive hesitate, he added, "I mean you no harm, Señor."

Enríquez was wary, seeing the soldier who accompanied the officer. At a distance he could not tell if there were any more soldiers. "I regret to inform you that I will not voluntarily return to the cuartel, Capitán," he replied in a loud voice. "Don’t come any closer," he warned. "I have a pistol aimed at you."

"Will you allow me to come forward – just to talk?" asked the officer.

"Capitán, just stay away. Do not attempt to come any closer!" the man ordered again. He looked about and then urged his horse into the brush. He was swallowed up into the night.

From the road behind Enríquez, a third rider had approached and slowed his horse to and imperceptible walk. El Zorro heard the sound of voices ahead and the exchange that took place. He knew that Enríquez would either talk or bolt and he expected the latter.

Not far from the road was an old arroyo that, like so many, meandered through brush and meadow. There were many tall reeds. Dismounting, one could become invisible to any searchers. Unless one knew the land well and where the old streams led, it would be easy to miss an obvious method to avoid detection at night. It would be a good place to intercept the thief, thought El Zorro.

Meanwhile, a Spanish officer was issuing orders to the corporal who accompanied him. "It will do no good to follow him through the brush," the captain told the soldier. "Not in this darkness. However, I believe that Señor Enríquez intends to head back toward Los Angeles. A good league up the road there is a spot where he could either follow a streambed or re-emerge on the highway. That is where we can get him."

Corporal Reyes nodded. "Sí, Señor Capitán." He hesitated a moment. "Oh, Comandante," he began, "I know the stream bed well. Sergeant García and I followed it and it comes near here and, further up, near Señor Villa’s lands."

"Excellent, Corporal," the officer told him approvingly. "That is very good information. Here is what we will do." And both men headed back up the road in the direction of Los Angeles.

Tornado walked along the streambed very carefully as he had been taught. Up ahead, were the sounds of the clop, clop of another horse whose rider was unaware he was being followed so closely. Every once in a while, Enríquez looked behind him, but the visibility was worsening as the fogs began to penetrate the valley and the road. Finally, El Zorro was almost upon the fugitive, when the man turned and saw him. Both men held pistols.

When Joaquín saw the masked man ready to overtake him, he halted his mount and said loudly and boldly, "I have no quarrel with you, Señor Zorro. Do not try to interfere with what you do not understand."

El Zorro shook his head. "I am sorry to disagree, Señor Enríquez. You have beaten innocent men, frightened families and robbed them of their wares. Such actions must cease. I suggest that you reconsider and surrender yourself to Capitán de las Fuentes. He is a man of honor and will see to it that you receive a fair trial."

Enríquez only grinned in his peculiar fashion. "I am not worried about the good captain," he told the masked man. "But I will never submit myself to be taken to the jail of that hangman, Capitán Monastario. No one will return me to that jail cell, no matter who he is. As for the rest, a few people might have been frightened, but I have not really harmed anyone."

"Allow me to disagree once again, Señor Enríquez," El Zorro told him. "Not only did you beat several men into unconsciousness, you attempted the assassination of Capitán de las Fuentes only a few nights ago. How could you possibly say you have harmed no one?"

The grin disappeared from Enríquez's face and he grew angry. "You are as blind as all the rest," he shouted bitterly. "If you are so certain of my guilt, then come take me yourself, if you can." He dismounted from his horse and drew his sword.

"Señor, I will more than glad to oblige you," remarked the masked man. He dismounted from Tornado. Even in the dimming light, he did not feel disadvantaged. The two men began to circle each other. Then El Zorro struck.

In a sudden move, he thrust toward his opponent. Enríquez was nimble and jumped back, parrying and disengaging. He was awkward compared to El Zorro, but he was able to keep the masked man at bay for a while. As the minutes passed, though, it became apparent to both men that the battle could not last forever. In a spectacular movement, El Zorro’s wrist rolled and, in rapid succession from one angle to another, gained control of Enríquez’s blade. A moment later it went flying off into space. Enríquez’s horse bolted at the sudden movement of man and blade. "Now, Señor, I think you will have to accompany me into town," El Zorro told him.

There was an unexpected movement from behind the masked man and he glanced behind him. A man had quietly approached the scene of clashing steel on horseback. El Zorro noted at once that Enríquez’s countenance changed from the grim to a cheerful smile of recognition.

A familiar voice spoke and both men recognized the figure of Corporal Reyes who emerged from the haze. He cocked his rifle and said, "Don't anybody move. This rifle is loaded."

"Ah, Corporal Reyes," the masked man responded. "It would appear your arrival is fortuitous. Here is the bandit, whom Capitán de las Fuentes is looking for."

"Hah," laughed Enríquez. "But who is the most important bandit you have captured, Corporal Reyes?" he asked. "Me, I’m just a petty thief, but this is El Zorro, a man with a price on his head. Two thousand pesos is the reward for his capture, isn’t that so?"

Reyes hesitated. He was alone with two outlaws. He knew De las Fuentes was looking for Enríquez, but capturing El Zorro at the same time would be almost miraculous. He shifted the rifle between Enríquez and El Zorro.

The masked man attempted to reason with the soldier as Enríquez moved back and forth, taking imperceptible steps toward the reeds. "Listen, Corporal," he said, "you can catch me any time, but the comandante wants Enríquez, who is right here."

Reyes shook his head, "I don't think so." He knew how hard Zorro was to catch. Reyes did not like the odds of two clever outlaws and he by himself. He raised his voice and called out, "Comandante! Capitán de las Fuentes! I have captured the outlaws, Zorro and Enríquez!"

Enríquez was quick-witted. "Look out, Reyes, behind you!" When Reyes turned, startled, Enríquez plunged right into the reeds and out of sight. The man in black began to pursue him, but Reyes spurred his horse forward. Now there was only one target for his rifle. "Don’t move, Señor Zorro! I’ll shoot."

El Zorro was very exasperated with the situation. "Corporal!"

Suddenly there was the sound of horses approaching on the trail. Reyes was nervous. "Who goes there?" he challenged.

He was answered by a deep baritone voice, "Capitán de las Fuentes!" and the officer appeared out of the fogs. He had Enríquez’s horse in tow.

"Look, Señor Comandante," Reyes enthused. "I have captured the bandit, Zorro." He gestured for the masked man to approach.

"I see," replied De las Fuentes, "but where is Señor Enríquez?" The officer was rubbing his right leg.

"I’m afraid, given the choice of capturing me or capturing Enríquez, the good corporal chose me instead," the masked man told the officer. "I have a price on my head."

"Ah," replied the officer. "I would much have preferred to have taken Señor Enríquez." He turned to the corporal. "I do not think Señor Zorro is an enemy, Corporal Reyes. Will you please lower your rifle and allow him to approach me?"

Reyes was astonished. "But, Comandante, there is a reward for the capture of El Zorro! Two thousand pesos!" he responded as if reprimanded. However, he lowered his rifle.

"A waste of the taxpayers' monies," the officer commented. "I heard the clash of arms, Señor Zorro, and welcome your efforts to apprehend Señor Enríquez."

"Thank you, Comandante," El Zorro smiled. "You know, Señor Enríquez is not too far away. There is no time to lose."

"Then I wish you God Speed, " De las Fuentes replied rather wearily. "However, the fogs are closing in and what light from the moon is about to be lost. Would you care to use this mount?"

"No, thank you, Capitán," the man in black shook his head. He suddenly uttered a sharp whistle and within moments a black stallion appeared from behind the bandit.

De las Fuentes edged his own horse close to the young steed. "My compliments, Señor, on such a mount. Perhaps we should head back to the cuartel. Not even such a splendid animal can help you find Señor Enríquez in this darkness." The captain’s voice now sounded very tired and strained.

"Comandante, are you all right?" EL Zorro asked in alarm. "You sound as if you are ill. Do you need assistance?"

"I regret to say that an old ailment has returned to haunt me," the officer replied. "A wound I received in Peru." He now rubbed his right leg below the knee vigorously. "I will manage until I get back to the cuartel." Straightening up in the saddle, he handed the reins of Enríquez's horse to Reyes. "Ah, Reyes," he told the soldier, noting his dejection, "you did a fine job of capturing the two men. However, it seems that the Fates have decreed that there is more work to be done before we can solve the larger questions at hand."

"What are the larger questions?" asked Reyes curiously.

"I'm not sure I know," the officer answered trying not to show his discomfort. "But I think Señor Zorro may be able to assist us in this regard. We shall meet again, Señor?"

The man in black grinned and waved his gloved hand before departing. "That is indeed the case, Capitán. Already, Señor Enríquez left some important clues that are beginning to make sense. You shall see me again soon, Comandante!" With that the masked man turned and disappeared into the fogs.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 19](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante19.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	19. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Nineteen**

It was very late when two riders showed up at the cuartel. Sergeant García was disturbed to see De las Fuentes in such discomfort. The officer could hardly dismount from his horse. "Your pardon, Señor Comandante," he said, "but you cannot walk to your quarters without assistance." After a few painful steps, the officer began to sink to his knees. García held onto his arm, then gave a big sigh. The soldier then swept the small man up into his arms and carried him into the Oficina del Comandante as if he was a child. "I am sorry, Capitán, but you cannot walk at all," the sergeant apologized. He laid the officer out on the bed very gently and removed his hat. Reyes lit several candles in the room.

De las Fuentes decided not to resist when the soldier carried him in and he whispered something that sounded like "remove my right boot" after he was laid on the bed.

Reyes and García removed the boot carefully. Then they saw the blood and matter that stained the lower leg of the officer’s white trousers. They two men looked at each other in consternation. "I think we need to send for the Doctor Aguilera," whispered Reyes.

"Capitán, your leg is bleeding and looks infected," García told the prone figure.

De las Fuentes was bathed in sweat. It was not the first time it had happened -but it was worse this time. He gestured toward his box. "In the box."

"What’s in the box, Comandante?" asked García uncertainly.

"A small leather bag," he answered. "But first, lift me a little."

García propped the small man up on pillows as Reyes opened the box and found the leather pouch. He brought it to the officer. "What’s in the bag, Capitán?" he asked.

"Moss. River moss," the officer answered. "I need the bath first, then wrap the moss around the wound." He closed his eyes as if speaking had taken all his strength.

It seemed like an eternity before De las Fuentes felt himself undressed to his drawers and lowered gently in the hot bath water. His leg ached and the blood soon turned the water pink. He insisted on being left in the bath a while.

The sergeant and corporal watched the officer a long time and De las Fuentes felt their concern - more than words could convey. He understood that it came from the respect and loyalty the two men felt for him – and their worry.

"It looks like a bad sword cut to the leg, Capitán," García observed. "Begging your pardon, Comandante, but when did this happen?"

"Just before I left Lima," the officer told him. "I thought it was healing, but tonight, it began to trouble me most severely." He looked up at Reyes. "Corporal, could you do me the courtesy of bringing a bucket of well water and some brandy." When Reyes returned with the water, the officer drank most of it as if he had nothing to drink in days. The cool water made him feel a bit more alert and his fever seemed to abate for a spell. He then swallowed the brandy. "The moss seems to absorb the bad spirits in my leg," he explained.

"The moss looks too old, Comandante," observed García. "It is almost dry." He paused. "Capitán, your pardon, but would it not be a good idea to summon Doctor Aguilera? The wound looks very red. It is not a good sign."

"It’s very late," the officer insisted. "Besides, this has worked for me before. Just rinse me off with the rest of the cold water and help me out. By morning this will be much better."

After seeing De las Fuentes to bed, García left with Reyes. Upon closing the door, he shook his head. "This is not good," he muttered.

"I know what you mean, Sergeant," Reyes nodded. "His leg is swollen as well. The moss I wrapped for the wound is too old."

"I hope the Capitán knows what he is doing," García mused. "He is a very smart man."

"Well, maybe," Reyes said in a forlorn voice.

"What do you mean ‘maybe’?" asked García.

"Well, Sergeant, tonight I captured Zorro and…"

García’s eyes bulged out. "You did _what_?" he asked in astonishment, stopping in mid-stride.

"I captured Zorro," Reyes affirmed.

"So, what happened? Where is Zorro?" demanded the sergeant.

"Well, I captured both Señor Enríquez _and_ Zorro. Señor Enríquez escaped, but I had El Zorro prisoner. The comandante rode up behind me and saw everything. Then the capitán told me that Zorro was not an enemy and told me to lower my rifle."

The huge man was stunned. "The capitán told you that?"

"Sí, Sergeant. I told the capitán that for the capture of El Zorro there is a reward of two thousand pesos. He told me that it is a waste of the taxpayers’ money," Reyes replied with a sigh. "Just think, Sergeant, two thousand pesos and the comandante let him go."

García shook his head. "Capitán de las Fuentes is a smart man, but this bad wound, maybe this is not good for him in many ways."

Reyes hesitated leaving the office. "Listen, Sergeant," he said. "If it’s not against regulations, I’d like to stay here just in case the comandante needs some help."

García looked thoughtful. "I think that’s a good idea, Corporal. The comandante is not well. As a matter of fact, I will keep you company." He looked around and spotted a mug. He took the bottle of brandy from Reyes. "I don’t think the capitán will mind if we have a little of this to help us stay awake." He uncorked the bottle and poured some in the mug. Within an hour, both soldiers had fallen asleep in chairs in the Oficina del Comandante de Los Angeles.

******************

A man in black made his way up a flight of stone stairs back behind the walls of the De la Vega hacienda and emerged into a dimly lit room at the top of the stairs. He unbuckled his sword, removed his mask and cape and slipped into a dressing gown. He pulled a ring in the stone wall, and a wooden panel swung open. He entered into the bedroom of Diego de la Vega. Asleep in a chair by the fireplace was his faithful servant, Bernardo.

Diego de la Vega gently put his hand on the shoulder of the sleeping man and squeezed. The servant woke up at once and raised his eyebrows at the late hour. He rose up out of the chair to offer his young master a glass of wine.

"Well, Bernardo, I had a few strange adventures tonight, including being captured," Diego began taking the glass and sipping its contents.

Bernardo spread his arms and opened his mouth to express astonishment.

"Corporal Reyes came upon me fighting with Señor Enríquez and captured us both. Enríquez diverted the corporal’s attention and escaped into the reeds. Then Capitán de las Fuentes rode up and told Reyes to lower his rifle because, as he said, ‘Señor Zorro is not an enemy.’ Diego paused when he saw the amazement on the mozo’s face. "I know what you are thinking – almost unheard of that a comandante would order such a thing." He paused a moment. "But you know, Capitán de las Fuentes is not your typical comandante."

Bernardo nodded vigorously.

Diego grinned. "Poor Reyes. I bet he really is going to miss that two thousand pesos." Then he sat down on the bed. "But you know what is really strange? This fellow Enríquez: it seems he is only stealing certain objects, when he could have stolen much more. At the Villa hacienda, for example, he just took two objects – candlesticks and a statue."

Bernardo held up his hand to interrupt the man on the bed. He went over to the chest of drawers and removed an object and brought it over for his young master’s inspection.

Diego was surprised. "But this is the snuff box that my father fought Enríquez over," he exclaimed. "And yet, you say, he left it?"

The mozo nodded and indicated that another snuffbox had been taken instead.

Diego frowned, thinking. "My father said that as Enríquez grappled with him and hit him over the head, he apologized. This is puzzling. Perhaps my father convinced him that he really should take something else." The young man shook his head. "I am beginning to think, Bernardo, that I have not been asking enough questions or finding answers in the right places. For example, who is Joaquín Enríquez and what are his ties here to Los Angeles? Why would he be stealing, or as he puts it ‘borrowing,’ these particular objects from those who are residents of the pueblo? And is there anything that ties all of these things together? And finally, Enríquez seems to posture as a man of violence, yet he did not harm the Señorita Villa when he robbed the hacienda tonight. He threatened to shoot the capitán and yet I found that the pistol was not even loaded. He even fought with me, but he is not a very good swordsman, Bernardo. However, he is quick of wit and movement."

Bernardo shook his head as if all these things were beyond him at the moment as well. He pointed to a clock on the mantel to indicate the late hour.

Diego rose from the bed and began to remove the dressing gown to prepare for going to bed. "Ah, yes, another thing or two. Why did Enríquez attempt to kill the comandante just a few nights ago? Was he mad then, and rational now? Will he try to kill when his fits of madness are upon him, and be kind or reasonable in the absence of such fits? And finally, Capitán de las Fuentes seemed very ill tonight, an old wound he said. I would have accompanied him back, but felt I had to search the reeds for Enríquez – of whom I did not find a trace. Enríquez still could be a very real danger to the comandante, despite our good capitán’s best intentions to understand him and what he does."

Bernardo held up a hand and indicated lying down among the reeds to hide.

His young master considered that. "Yes, Enríquez could have been right under my nose, but in the darkness, I would have not known - unless Tornado would have shied out of the way to avoid stepping on him. This did not happen. Señor Enríquez is a very clever adversary, but I have an idea that I will pursue in the morning that might just lead me to him."

*******************

Tomás Robello was lying awake in the cell covered with several blankets against the cool of the night. He had been tired and slept well until the arrival of the comandante and corporal. He watched curiously the unfolding of events as the officer seemed to collapse just inside the cuartel. He observed the sergeant who carried him inside the building and Robello wondered briefly what was going on. But then his thoughts returned to that day’s activities.

Early that morning his cell had been unlocked by a private who handed him what looked like an old blacksmith’s apron and told to put it on. He was then handed a bucket of whitewash and a long handled brush and told to begin. He had, of course, objected. The private told him in no uncertain tones that this was how he was going to work off all the fines he owed and, by the way, wasn’t he lucky to get out of the cell. Robello had to admit later on that keeping busy sure beat the boredom of the jail cell, but he didn’t like the idea of having to do a job he didn’t want to do. When his first efforts did not impress the soldier, he was told that he would paint the same area over until the got it right. After he did a better job, the soldier left him to perform other duties. Robello was only left wondering how much work around the cuartel he would have to do before he was released.

The first night watch had returned and the second had taken off and Robello stayed awake just to watch the different activities taking place. He thought about Angel Ledesma and how he might convince him to loan him some money to get out of jail sooner. But he would wait a few days to see if Angel came to pay off his debts to the comandante. _When he shows up, I’ll ask him to help me. He’s never refused before_ , the vaquero thought.

Robello watched the moon disappear as the fogs rolled in to the town. _If I were superstitious,_ he thought, _I’d consider it an omen. But for whom_? Soon, the entire town became enveloped in the white mists. Robello clutched the blankets around him tighter and laid back down on the wooden platform that served as a bed in the cell. The sounds of the night no longer interested him and he fell into a deep sleep.

**************

She arrived at the church early that morning in great expectation and began to worry because he had not shown up as soon as she expected. She was about ready to leave for the cuartel when she heard quiet steps behind her and saw him. She rose immediately with a look of expectation on her face, but her smile faded at once, becoming an expression of concern when she saw how drawn and pale he looked.

Francisco de las Fuentes smiled at the young woman despite the hurt in his leg and reached out his hands to her. She took them and he drew her to him. "Margarita," he whispered with pleasure, but his voice was unusually soft and the words came with effort. He nodded toward the doors, indicating he would like her to leave with him.

As soon as they were a respectable distance from the entrance of the church and from any nearby parishioners, she turned to face him. "Francisco, are you all right? How pale you are."

He nodded. "I'll be all right," he responded stoically. "With your permission, dear, could we go to the churchyard? It is quiet there and I have much to tell you."

"Of course," she responded, watching him carefully as he limped along. After they reached the courtyard, he took her hand in a courtly manner and helped her sit down. He slid gingerly next to her on the bench and stretched out his right leg as if it were bothering him.

"Francisco," she began, "you are in pain and you can't hide it from me. What is happening? Is it your leg? Tell me what is wrong." She took his arm and looked deeply into his light blue eyes. He looked exhausted.

"I deeply apologize that I am not at my best for such an important encounter, dear," he replied quietly and in some embarrassment. "Before I left Lima, three scoundrels set upon me in a dark street. I believe it was their intention to assassinate me. It was on that occasion that I received the wound to my leg. The pain has not gone away since that time. I am treating it and today I am better."

Margarita continued to be alarmed. "Why would anyone want to hurt you, Francisco?" she pressed. "Were they robbers? Please tell me what happened."

The officer was quiet a moment. "I believe they were sent by my enemies to dispatch me," he told her. "It was fortunate for me that they had not been briefed well enough on what kind of man they would encounter and therefore, did not expect that it would take much to complete their mission. I, however, sent all three of them to their Maker sooner than they planned, but not before the last one wounded me grievously in the leg. It is this wound that has continued to plague me, now and then."

"How dreadful!" Margarita responded. She took one of his hands in hers and noticed that it was very warm, like someone with a fever. She looked up at him again. "How could you possibly have enemies? You are the most wonderful man I have ever met. Who could not like you?"

He smiled gently at her innocence. "This is why I must tell you a story, dearest Margarita, a story that may seem to you like a fairytale, but one that best explains something of my past and why there may be danger for you, too."

She was amazed by his words. "Danger for me _?"_ she exclaimed and thought, _I don't believe it._

He guessed what she was thinking by her expression, but Margarita only nodded as he began to speak. The sunlight shone down through the branches of the trees and she heard the nearby chatter of a Bush Jay in the quiet of the churchyard. The clouds high above cast strange and moving shadows over the courtyard as spirits in a hidden arbor, teasing and cajoling imprisoned blue birds in their gilded cages. The impressions of her surroundings faded as his rich baritone voice reached her ears.

"There was once an officer who served on the General Staff during the War of Liberation. He had not planned to be a soldier at all, for his destiny seemed to lie in another world - in a world of art, music and culture. It was then that France invaded. Like all the subjects of the king, he rallied to the cause of Spain and served his kingdom in many capacities since it was both a calling as well as a duty. During the war, he discovered that he had many God-given gifts that he had not known of. He hoped that these talents could best be utilized to serve Spain.

" Over a period of years, although he was honored by the king, His Majesty Carlos IV, he made many enemies. At first, he did not understand why this was so, as he never coveted what others had in terms of power or personal influence - nor did he need to. To make a long story short, he discovered that whatever he did was resented by those most ambitious and least capable of serving their king and kingdom. Instead of serving Spain, they bickered and quarreled amongst themselves. They attacked this officer for his appraisal of the kingdom's dilemma and the army's disastrous course on the battlefield; they opposed his analysis of the obsolete tactics and strategies of the armed forces in battle; they distrusted his opposition to their bankrupt policies and procedures. And they resented his support of those who would resist the foreign occupier rather than submit themselves to bribes and comfortable treason."

"The fundamental difference between these men and this officer was due to their lack of understanding of the very nature of their own profession and its many requirements that necessitated innovation, imagination, and audacity against a ruthless enemy. It was far easier for them to play politics on the General Staff than to fight the enemy on the battlefield. And so, over time, this officer became the target of their most furious and vindictive efforts to discredit him with the monarchy.

"On his part, this officer attempted to remain focused on the war and the defeat of Spain's enemies. He ignored the many personal slights and slanders because he believed that his sole purpose was to serve Spain and his monarch to the best of his ability - and this in spite of the failings of the monarchy in the realm of politics. In fact, the monarchy had always acknowledged and rewarded such services generously. But all this came to an end after the liberation of our kingdom. How joyful we were in restoring our way of life, our monarchy, and our religion again. Little did we know how things would change: instead of the old monarch, Carlos IV, who still lived, his son became king; this son was one who had praised the enemy of Spain, Bonaparte, and been kept in a comfortable exile in France by the same.

"The new monarch, inexperienced and self-absorbed, closed his ears to rationality, to good sense and to honor. He surrounded himself with ignorance, stupidity, and those who would grovel to his every wish. He loathed enlightenment, differences of opinion, and honesty. Those who did not submit completely found themselves attacked or dishonored politically. And this was the situation with this officer. Despite his knowledge and experience in serving Spain, despite his refusal to engage in intrigue, he was ignominiously dismissed, his rank greatly diminished, and his personal life infringed upon in a way that broke his heart. To preserve his sanity, he left Spain, but only after the war was long over. He would not leave until his beloved kingdom had been made safe - or so he thought. From that time until the present, he has been plagued by a series of events that seem to stem from the power of his enemies, including their use of assassins and the powers of the supernatural, to prey upon him - even though he lives on foreign shores, far removed from his native land or the centers of power."

De las Fuentes gave a sad sigh at the end of his narrative and looked beyond the high wall of the churchyard. He looked down at his hands holding hers and, then, into to her blue eyes. Her expression was one of great concern.

"I can't believe anyone would do this to you," she declared. "Did not anyone speak up on your behalf - not even your superiors or others with influence?" she asked indignantly.

"My family was, of course, outraged, as were others, but times were difficult for all of Spain. My father traveled to Madrid with me and my eldest brother and met with friends at court. He demanded an audience with the king who could not refuse him. I was denied admittance to this meeting despite the fact it directly concerned me. I later heard that His Majesty trembled before my father but would not agree to make a decision at that time. This is what is called 'delaying tactics,'" Francisco told her wryly.

"Your father _demanded_ an audience with the king?" Margarita seemed astonished at the idea. "Can all aristocrats do that?"

"Well, Father can be quite formidable at times," Francisco commented thoughtfully, "and with my brother at his side - not to mention our friends at court - the sycophants were in fear for their hides. But never underestimate the deviousness of these fellows. Just because they had been confronted did not mean that they had been defeated. My father saw that he would have to do much more than to demand my reinstatement."

Margarita was quiet for a spell, trying to understand everything he had told her. Just the idea that his father had confronted the king was not only astonishing, but almost unheard of.

"What rank did you hold before this happened to you?" she asked carefully.

"I was a general, " he told her reluctantly.

"A general!" She was amazed and impressed. "I was thinking only yesterday about what you said about seeing His Majesty and the royal family," she explained. "I told Ismaida that you must have been a war hero and very brave to be admitted to Court."

He smiled at that. "Not much of a hero, only one whose duties made it necessary for him to be there." He paused, then explained, "I did not become a professional officer until the war. I had trained in weapons, of course, and learned much from my father who also was a general. He taught us so much - even in the course of a dinner conversation." He added, "It is a part of our training and way of life that we are well-versed in, dear. You might say I was well-trained in the arts of war long before there was a war, and yet we were trained in many other things as well."

"Francisco," she asked curiously, "are you really anything like your father? From what you've said, he seems like a tiger, yet you are so calm, so dignified."

"We are a cultured and proud family," he told her. "Any slight on our honor has to be taken seriously - no matter by whom it is made. And," he added, "part of the situation was my fault. I overlooked many insults and did not tell my family about most of them. Why did I do this? I considered the sources of these actions - men base and mean - men who were not worthy of my consideration. It was a shock to everyone when I was demoted in such a dishonorable way. My father tried to encourage me not to leave Spain while he and my family mobilized to oppose the actions against me, but I was beyond rational thought at the time. I believed that by leaving Spain, I would be doing everyone a favor, including myself. As to your other question - yes, I am like my father in many ways, but I have never been confrontational. I believe we can work through differences as rational, enlightened beings rather than acting like violent barbarians. I would apply these ideals to most people in the hope that basic decency would prevail when applied with justice. I did not count on the fact that one cannot deal on an honorable basis with those who have no honor \- not even those with noble blood." He seemed sad for a long moment. "I had to learn the hard way."

"But, Francisco," she wondered, "you stood up to my father and to the men at the hearings who made all the trouble. Despite what you say, you are so much like your father!"

"Margarita, dear," he told her patiently, "such matters and people are trifling for me. The politics of Spain involve more serious - and dangerous - actors. The sins of California are so small."

She still did not seem to grasp everything he was telling her, but she was thinking fast. "I know it must feel very bad for all those things to have happened to you, but I want you to know something, Francisco. You don't have to worry about all that with me. Why, I can sew and even become a governess or a music teacher. Together we can manage. I still have my grandmother's dowry chest - that is mine \- and we can make a good life together, even if you were demoted. Besides, I need to tell you that…."

He was so moved by her loyalty and not a little surprised by her determination that he impolitely interrupted her. "Margarita, dear, that would not be necessary. I manage on more than just a capitán's stipend." He smiled. "I do have friends, ones I did not know that I had, even here in California."

Another thought came to her. "Francisco, why did you come to the Américas?" she asked. "You know Vienna, Rome, Naples, even other places that filled your heart with happiness because of the music, the operas, and all your friends. Why didn't you go back to what you loved best?"

"Allow me to blame Alexander von Humboldt," he smiled and watched her mouth drop open again.

"Don't tell me you knew him, too!" she gasped.

"Well, I saw him at Court and followed his amazing exploits of exploration in South America. I never knew him other than meeting him at a reception," Francisco admitted. "But his writings on the new biology, travel and discovery are the most inspiring and astonishing that one could imagine. I read everything he ever wrote. I needed a new world to come to, Margarita. To have returned to all the old places in my state of mind would have caused me great melancholy, not joy. They were too familiar and reminded me of the tragedy and happiness I left behind. The dangers and challenge of the Américas seemed appropriate because my past life was in chaos and perhaps, just perhaps, I would be beyond the reach of my enemies. Apparently, I was wrong."

"Are you sad that you came to the New World, Francisco?" she asked curiously. "Was there no one special that you left behind?" She began to doubt her own worthiness.

He gazed at her with great tenderness. "No, dear, I am not sad, for if I had not come, I would have never met you. You may not know this, Margarita, but you are the key that has unlocked the door back to the great joys - and pain - I had almost forgotten and been afraid to forget." He stood up. "If you would not think it too forward of me, I would like to show you something that I have at the cuartel. It is something that I hope will answer your other questions and explain my dilemma."

"I will come, Francisco," she said simply and stood. He took her arm in his and both of them slowly made their way across the wind-swept plaza toward the large oak gates of the Los Angeles garrison.

**********************

Don César Rodríguez stood before the lawyer who was a bit nervous at the musician's abrupt and unceremonious appearance at his office. The musical maestro was dressed in his most flamboyant colors, knowing color as well as sweeping gestures could enhance any display of outrage - and he was outraged.

"Listen, Don César," the man with a double chin explained, "I don't make any moral judgments about these sorts of things. I am just hired to do a job and I do it."

César glowered at the man in indignation. "By doing what you have done, you disgrace your profession. You know what was done is wrong, yet you would persist in following through with this, this act of infamy!"

"Don César, this is perfectly within the law and I have followed the law as carefully and appropriately as possible under the circumstances. Surely, you cannot fault me for doing this. While I myself would have acted differently, I cannot dictate to others how to act. What else would you have me do?"

"You could have refused to engage such a case," the musician lectured him. "Does the money mean so much to you that you would defend the indefensible?"

"My friend, do not condemn me so. If he had not come to me, he would have gone to someone else. I tried to explain that perhaps there were other means by which to accomplish the same thing, but he was most adamant. What could I possibly say or do beyond this? One does not trifle with a man of influence."

"Bah!" responded César. "If every one of you would have refused this case, it would have gone nowhere, but no, you had to take his gold and justify your actions. Can you imagine the indignation of the people of this town by what you have done? Your actions may prove to be more costly than the gold you have taken."

"And just what do you mean by that kind of threat, Señor?" the lawyer responded in indignation.

"You may just find that your business has taken a turn for the worse!" declared the maestro as he turned his back on the man and slammed the door on his way out.

The lawyer sat back and shook his head. _Emotional men_ , he thought, _cannot see very far up the road. But I know that nothing will end up like they imagine and life will return to normal after a spell._ He turned his thoughts elsewhere. Don Diego de la Vega had been by to see him earlier and made a most curious request. It would require some research into the earlier history of the pueblo and might even be of interest to the comandante. He began to search through some old documents and journals he had removed from their place high on wooden shelves, documents far removed from recent affairs but not from recent events.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 20](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante20.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	20. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty**

"Good morning, Don Diego," the big soldier standing at the gates of the cuartel called out.

"Good morning, Sergeant," the young man replied and continued walking.

"Oh, Don Diego, could I have a word with you…. please," García implored. "It will only take a little moment."

The young man in the brown ranchero's outfit turned back toward the cuartel. "What can I do for you, Sergeant?" he asked patiently.

"Well, I need to ask you about something," the soldier told him. "You are a poet and a scholar, perhaps you could tell me about, well, about..," the big man hesitated.

"What can I tell you about?" Diego inquired. "Sergeant, you look like you need some help."

"Well, it is really such a small thing," García responded confidentially. "Perhaps you can explain to me what operetta songs are like. I know soldiers' songs and drinking songs and I know what they are like. But what is an operetta song like?"

"Operetta songs?" Diego asked in surprise. That was a bit highbrow for the sergeant, he thought, but then, being around Capitán de las Fuentes, maybe something was rubbing off. "Well, let's see. First, let me ask you, what is an operetta song?"

The fat sergeant looked slightly annoyed. "Don Diego, I don't know. That is why I am asking _you_."

"I see," replied Diego. "Well, an operetta song is not that hard to explain. It is merely a type of song that is sung in a short, light musical drama. It is a song in a story that is acted out on a stage. In an opera, the story can be about love, or death, about heroism or about tragedy. In an operetta, it will most likely be comic. The characters tell the entire story in a series of songs and that is what both opera and operetta songs are like."

"Oh, I see," the sergeant said thoughtfully. "Well, that is not very different from most songs. All songs tell stories."

"That is true," the young man continued. "Now opera songs are different in that they are like conversations - first one man sings his concerns, then another responds and then another. Sometimes a woman will play the role and she will sing her part as well. Others join in and their dialogue is all in song. Even their jokes are all in the form of songs. Even a man dying does it all in song."

García looked amused. "So, an operetta song is when people sing to each other. They do not talk as you and I, but they sing the words instead.

"Exactly, Sergeant," Diego agreed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to…."

"One more moment, please, Don Diego," the soldier insisted.

The young don turned back once again to face the big soldier.

"Well, I don't know exactly how to ask this, Don Diego, but just yesterday Capitán de las Fuentes asked Corporal Reyes and I if we knew songs from operettas. Of course, we do not. Then the corporal told the capitán that I could sing other kinds of songs, you know, soldiers' songs, love songs, songs about donkeys and their masters…"

"I get the picture, Sergeant," the young man pointed out. "So what did the comandante say?"

"The comandante then told me that I should sing for him sometime," the big man replied. "Only I don't know any such songs; that is why I am asking you. Do you know any operetta songs?"

"Ah, I see," Diego responded with a look of profound enlightenment. "I believe what you are asking me, Sergeant, is to teach you some songs from the operettas."

"Sí, Don Diego," García beamed. Then he looked concerned. "Do you know such songs, Don Diego? Could you teach me, perhaps, one song?"

Diego de la Vega gave a short laugh. "As a matter of fact, I do. Tell me, Sergeant, are you really serious about learning a song from an operetta?"

"Sí, Don Diego. After all, Capitán de las Fuentes said he would like for me to sing."

"All right, Sergeant. Let's do it. And wouldn't this be a nice surprise for the comandante."

García nodded enthusiastically.

**************************************

Juanita Villa was very eager to get to Los Angeles that morning. She was literally dancing around the hacienda, imploring her parents to find a reason to go. Finally her father suggested that she and her sister just ride into town themselves. The two girls eagerly mounted their cream-colored ponies and raced each other down the long dirt road toward the pueblo, laughing and shouting to each other.

"I'll get there first and tell Ismaida," called Josefina to her sister.

"Oh, no, you won't," shouted Juanita back, urging her pony onward

The racing steeds kicked up a cloud of dust, passing wide meadows, outcrops, and forests of oaks. They thundered across a wooden bridge over a flowing arroyo and headed up hill until they passed the fork in the road that led north towards the pueblo. In another twenty minutes they had reached the outskirts of the town. Both of the twins slowed to a fast trot past the cuartel and waved to townspeople who looked up to see who was riding by so quickly. Within minutes both pulled their ponies up in front of the home of Don César Rodríguez, dismounted, and tied the reins to the hitching post. Juanita reached the door of the patio first and laughingly ran towards the front door. Seconds later, Josefina followed, watching her sister knock on the door, then turn around and laugh at her. "I got here first," she proclaimed.

The door opened and Ismaida stood there, looking in at her friends as they rushed up to her.

"You'll never guess what happened to Juanita," Josefina told her breathlessly.

"Don't tell her, Josefina!" Juanita declared. "You let me do that!"

Both girls stopped when they saw Ismaida's serious demeanor and they looked at each other in consternation.

"Oh, hello, Juanita, Josefina," their friend welcomed them solemnly.

"What's wrong, Ismaida?" Juanita asked. "You look like you woke up from a bad dream."

"Please, come in," Ismaida told them. "You need to know something important." She led them to the sala and they all sat down in chairs. Ismaida pulled her chair so close to theirs that their knees almost touched. "There is something terrible I have to tell you." In a quiet voice she told them that Señor Pérez had disinherited his daughter, Margarita, and that now their friend was living with them at their home.

"Oh, poor Margarita," exclaimed the twins simultaneously. "How horrible!"

"What a terrible man, that Señor Pérez! What is she going to do?" asked Josefina.

"Where is Margarita now?" asked Juanita looking about her. "Is she here?"

"She told me that she was going to church," Ismaida told them. "Father had all her effects picked up and brought here about an hour ago. They are piled in the guest room upstairs."

"What did her mother do about this?" asked Josefina. "Surely she did not agree to such a crazy thing."

"Father says that Señora Pérez is 'incommunicado' right now," Ismaida whispered. "I bet that Señor Pérez had to beat her to force her to agree. No one has seen her all morning."

"Does Capitán de las Fuentes know about this?" asked Juanita indignantly. "Has Margarita told him what happened?"

"I don't know," answered Ismaida. "It just happened this morning. All I know is that she went to church. I guess we'll find out when she gets back. She said she wanted to be alone for a while."

All three girls were silent each thinking their own thoughts about their dear friend, Margarita.

Finally, Juanita sighed. "I guess my news isn't very important, not compared to what has happened to Margarita," she commented. Josefina nodded glumly.

"What is your news?" asked Ismaida.

"Well, last night I met El Zorro," Juanita began.

Ismaida gave a start and stared at Juanita. "What did you say?" she exclaimed. "You met _who_? What do you mean, this is 'not very important'? Of course, it is! Oh, do tell me what happened!"

Juanita gave Josefina a mischievous smile and tossed her head. "Well," she began. "Señor Enríquez came out to rob our house last night - and guess who showed up? The robber had just left the house and jumped over the wall when El Zorro appeared in the yard. He told me not to be afraid and I wasn't. I told El Zorro what Señor Enríquez had done to us. When I told him Señor Enríquez had just left, he called to his great black stallion, Tornado. Tornado raced through the front gates and halted right in front of us. El Zorro told me not to fear because Señor Enríquez would trouble us no more. He leaped into the saddle and was off like the wind. I heard the pounding of hooves as they disappeared into the night. I went inside and told Father and Mother what happened. Then, our servant, Jorge, told us that El Zorro had helped him after Enríquez struck him on the head. Father and Jorge went back to check on Manuel and Lupe. Señor Enríquez had tied up Manuel, but Zorro had freed them. Imagine, El Zorro at our hacienda!"

"Oh, my," sighed Ismaida. "How lucky you are to have met El Zorro in person! I'm so jealous, Juanita. Tell me, is he as tall as they say he is? What is his voice like? What color are his eyes?" She felt so envious of her tall friend. Up to now, she had been the only one of the three one to have seen El Zorro and to have waved to him. She never tired of telling them that he had waved back.

Josefina and Juanita smiled at each other. "He's very tall," Juanita began, "and you wouldn't believe what a gentleman he is. Why, it's just like you told Diego - El Zorro is not really an outlaw, not at all…"

***********************************

Diego de la Vega shook his head in amusement as he walked across the plaza towards the church. Before being sidetracked by Sergeant García's request about operettas, he had intended to visit Padre Felipe and ask him what he might know about Joaquín Enríquez. There were many questions that had formed in his mind and the young don wanted to explore many avenues of investigation.

The young ranchero brushed off the sleeves of his short brown embroidered jacket before knocking at the wooden door of Felipe's office. When there was no response, he opened the door and entered the room. "Padre Felipe?" he called out. When there was no response, he sat down a short while to see if the priest would return. Diego sat pondering all the clues that the 'madman' seemed to be leaving about - the stolen objects and what they meant, what Enríquez had said during the hearings, the threats he had made against the lives of the men there, and the attack on the comandante. Much about Enríquez did not seem to make any sense - why the violent behavior and then the strange things he had said to Señorita Villa. _I must find out more information_.

After waiting a quarter of an hour and no sign of Padre Felipe, Diego decided on another approach. He visited two solicitors in town and asked them to do some research into any information they could find out about Joaquín Enríquez in past years. If they found anything, would they please contact him immediately.

The young don headed back to the church. On impulse he decided to enter the churchyard and see if the priest might be gardening. He thought of Margarita and Capitán de las Fuentes when he passed the stone bench _. I wonder what Señor Pérez is up to now_ , he thought, thinking how angry the man had been upon leaving the party the night before. Hopefully, Margarita would weather another ordeal at home, now that it was becoming obvious that there could be only one man in her life and that man was a most remarkable Spanish prince. Diego smiled at the thought of what the townspeople would say when they eventually found out who their comandante really was.

As he wandered about the stone-lined paths, past the orange calendula flowers and the yellow poppies, Diego came to the graves. There were not too many. Traditionally, families buried their loved ones on their own properties. Townspeople were usually buried in the churchyard but Los Angeles was not that old. The young don tapped a few small stones out of his way as he turned over the recent events in his mind. Suddenly, he stopped in mid-stride. Taking a step back he stared at the names on two graves just a few feet away from the path. Carved on a scrap of wood over one grave was the name "María Enriquez". There was no birth date recorded, but the date of death was July 1815. Just two graves away was another grave. Barely discernable on that wooden cross was the name "Juan Enriquez." The date of death was 1810. Diego studied the names a long time pondering whether it was mere coincidence or whether they bore any relationship to Joaquín Enríquez, the fugitive.

De la Vega looked up as he heard someone call his name. Padre Felipe gave greetings and came towards him. "Good morning, Padre," he smiled and exchanged a handshake with the priest. Then he turned back towards the graves. "Padre Felipe," he began, "what can you tell me about María and Juan Enríquez?"

**********************

A woman at the cuartel was not a common sight. So when Margarita Pérez entered the garrison on the arm of the comandante, about two dozen pairs of eyes watched her with great curiosity. After they passed the main gate, Corporal Reyes, then on guard duty, turned to the soldier on watch with him, smiled, and moved his eyes in the direction of the young lady. "That is the fiancée of the comandante," he whispered to Private Hugo Ríos.

Ríos was a thin, lanky young soldier in his mid-twenties with a pencil mustache. He glanced over his shoulder to watch the woman. "That's Señorita Margarita Pérez. Isn't she the one who refuses to marry all the men her father tells her to?" he asked.

"I think so," answered the corporal.

Ríos was quiet a while. Then he turned toward Reyes and asked in a low voice. "Did you hear that her father threw her out of the house this morning?"

"Where did you hear that from?" the corporal wanted to know.

"Private López heard it from one of the Rodríguez servants who was packing her things in a cart this morning. Don César has taken her into his home."

"Poor Señorita Pérez," Reyes said with feeling.

Ríos lapsed into silence once again. After some time he spoke again. "Say, Corporal, do you think the comandante will ask her to marry him now?"

Reyes thought about it. "I don't know."

Hugo Ríos looked surprised. "But don't you know?" he asked in astonishment. "You are with the comandante all the time. Does he not talk about these things?"

Reyes did not want to appear to be a gossip so he was careful in what he said. "Well, the comandante goes to see her every day and when he comes back he is very happy. He orders flowers and he meets her at church. He plays his violin and talks about music. But the comandante is not very well. He does not speak of personal matters."

I know all that, thought the private. "If I were going to marry a girl like Señorita Pérez," Hugo commented. "I would certainly be talking about it. If this were happening to Capitán Monastario, everyone would know about it, even if we didn't want to know about it."

"Capitán de las Fuentes is not Capitán Monastario," Reyes observed simply.

Ríos thought he wasn't going to get much out of the corporal. "Hey, look," he gestured to a figure coming across the plaza. "Maybe Sergeant García knows."

"Knows? Knows what?" asked the big man, approaching and overhearing his name mentioned. He marched right up to the private and corporal. "What is it that you want to know?"

"Is it true that the comandante and Señorita Pérez…?" began the private.

"Shhhhsh!" the sergeant reprimanded the private to the latter's surprise. "You should be more respectful in speaking of the capitán."

"But, I just wanted to know if…" continued Ríos.

"You will know when it is time to know," García told him sternly. Then he peered into the yard of the cuartel as if watching someone approach. "As a matter of fact, we should all know fairly soon."

***************************************

The comandante's office was a more pleasant place than she expected or had imagined. There were plants on the porch at the entrance, paintings on the wall inside, including a large map. On top of the large desk was a row of books and even a model cannon. Next to the model cannon was a vase of fresh flowers. Margarita wondered if the symbolism was intentional - the contrast between life and death. There were two large cabinets with doors and drawers and chairs pushed against the wall, Spanish style.

Margarita peered around the desk toward the capitán's quarters and saw a bright green fern on a pedestal outside of the door that led into the comandante's private room.

Francisco had disappeared momentarily into his room and now he returned to the office carrying what looked like a portrait. He brought it over to the desk and placed it down. Margarita rose to look at it. "This is what I wanted to show you," he told her and watched as she studied the painting with great interest.

Margarita gazed down at a portrait of two people. She recognized Francisco at once, but it was a different kind of Francisco than she was used to seeing. Her eyes then moved to the character that dominated the painting.

At the center of the portrait was a slender woman seated in a royal Spanish style upholstered chair of velvet. She wore an incredible long, light-green silk dress with pink flowers embroidered all around the low neckline, waist, sleeves and hem. Around the woman's neck were several strands of pearls intertwined with gold and above her wrists were several bands of diamonds. The woman's auburn hair was pulled back and up in the Spanish style, and there was a cool, aloof smile on her face. Margarita was struck by Isabel's beauty and the fabulous dress and jewels she wore. Then her eyes traveled to the more familiar character in the painting. Next to the woman, holding a book in one hand with the other hand draped casually over the back of the chair was a small, ordinary-looking man in a blue and white military uniform with gold epaulets and decorations on his chest. He wore a golden sash around his waist. His hair was long and wavy, curled in the fashion of the Seventeenth Century. Above his pleasant smile were the familiar upswept moustaches and long Spanish goatee on his chin. The rest of his face was clean-shaven and there was not a trace of pockmarks. The simple, contented demeanor of his face and the twinkle in his eye contrasted sharply with the haughtiness of the elegant woman. Slightly off to one side was a grand piano. On the piano was a large birdcage in which two nightingales fluttered.

"That was Isabel," Francisco commented. "How she loved the elaborate French dresses, fashionable long before Bonaparte - though now she wears the simpler and more austere English style. I think she wore them because she knew I liked them so much."

"Was this the woman you were going to marry, Francisco?" Margarita asked in awe, staring at the richness of the dress and the jewels. "She's very beautiful." Her eyes returned to the image of the man who now stood next to her. "And you look so impressive."

"Yes, it is she," he commented, gazing at the woman in the portrait. "I was very happy back then. I thought that the both of us were. Everyone considered us the perfect match." He sighed deeply. "How appropriate the symbolism of the two musical birds in a gilded cage in this painting is. The artist knew much better than I what the reality was."

"It's a lovely portrait," she said admiringly. "Who painted it?"

"Francisco Goya," he replied with a mischievous smile.

Her jaw dropped in surprise. "But I thought you didn't think much of Goya at all!" she exclaimed. "After what you said the other night about his lack of imagination and other faults. My father was furious. Did Isabel want him as the artist?"

He chuckled a little. "Dearest Margarita, I think Francisco Goya is not just a great painter, I think he is a genius. I commissioned him myself."

" _You_ did?" she sputtered, almost shocked.

Francisco was enjoying the moment. "As for our conversation at your parents' home - I just wanted to see what your parents' reaction would be. I would, for once, like someone to praise an artist because of his real abilities, not just because he is said to be popular, or because others praise him. I wanted a stimulating discussion on style, use of color, portraits of the common people, or the emotion of the moment that he is so brilliant at depicting."  
  
Margarita began to smile. "Oh, now I see what you were up to. Do you really think he is a great artist after all?"

"I love Goya," he told her, "because of his incredible ability to put feeling into his portraits of people, not just the beauty of their clothing, but of the crassness of their souls. He has a real boldness and talent for presenting people as they truly are." He gestured at the portrait. "Here's a perfect example - the love-struck fool of a general and his bride-to-be - as vain and aloof as the portrait shows. How grateful I am - with hindsight - to this most illustrious and insightful artist. No man like him has used the application of light, shadow, highlights and color. No artist can bring a sense of realism, tranquility or even violence into his paintings with such passion; no artist has brought such sensitive lyricism or truth into his works; such balance, drama, and harmony he has attained!"

"You had convinced me of just the opposite," she told him. "Now to hear you describe him so, I feel, well, so foolish for not imagining that he could be a great artist after all."

"I am so sorry that I played the Devil's Advocate much too well," he responded. "I would have been delighted had your father disputed me over how talent is displayed rather than a defense based upon 'the king chose him as painter.' I must warn you, dear, that I do have a tendency to make trouble like this on occasion."

"I learn so much from you," she told him. "I think it's delightful to do this. It makes you think more about what it is that you believe that you know - or don't know."

"Isabel never liked me doing that," he remarked, "although she knows it is practically a hereditary trait in my family."

"Francisco," she began rather hesitantly, "you said that God had opened your eyes about Isabel. What happened that changed everything?"

He took her over to a chair and sat next to her holding her hands. "My dear, sometimes a man's eyes need to be opened and when he won't open them himself, well, God intervenes." He looked very distracted a moment. "I am convinced that I am much the same now as I have always been, but somehow, I must have sinned dreadfully. Perhaps it was pride or arrogance or something else, but God saw fit to punish me." He watched her shake her head in disagreement but continued. "When the war ended, Isabel and I set our wedding date. I had insisted that we wait until the war was over, the kingdom safe, and our worries put to rest about our king and the affairs of state. It was then that I contracted the smallpox. I thought I was going to die, I was so ill." He paused. "Have you ever seen anyone with the pox?"

"Never," she almost whispered. "Was it so very dreadful? Tell me what happened."

"It seemed to have come from nowhere," he told her. "One night in the winter months, I could not sleep at all. I felt exhausted for no reason. Then it seemed as if everything had gotten very hot, as if in the middle of summer with a forest fire added to the heat. My head began to pound and my skin began to burn. I threw off all my bedclothes, but shortly afterwards, began to shiver. By morning, I thought it had passed, but before the sun reached noon, my fever returned even worse than before. Several doctors were called and came to bleed me. They tried to force noxious substances down my throat. I dismissed all of them most discourteously - something I had never done in my life." He paused, then stared intently at her. "I saw death in their faces, Margarita." Then he continued. "Another day passed and I drank tea, wine thinned with water, orange and lemon juice as I could not partake food of any kind - only to lose it. My skin was hot to the touch and soon, tiny red flecks no bigger than pinpricks began to be seen across my head. As the hours passed, they flowed like a river down to my toes, like red sand. That same day they began to rise, growing and deepening in size, mainly on my face, forearms and hands. Oddly, at that time, I began to feel better, thinking - or rather, praying - that it was not the pox, but the measles instead. It got worse, but at least a physician arrived who did me some good. He kept the room cool, but not freezing, and gave me small amounts of food - barley-gruel and oatmeal served with figs or other small fruits. He insisted on bleeding me, but not too often. I still had a small fever and thought my dilemma over with. It was not. The pocks got worse and hurt. The skin swelled again. Even my mouth was filled with sores and I could not swallow. Soon another fever was upon me and it was even worse than before. I sent for the priest - it was Padre Felipe."

Margarita was listening with a kind of horrified fascination. When Francisco mentioned Padre Felipe, she exclaimed, "Was not Padre Felipe fearful of catching the pox from you?"

"Padre Felipe is one of the most courageous men I know," he answered mildly. "He did not fear to minister to me or to any other. His presence here in Los Angeles is a great comfort to me."

Margarita seemed ashamed by her comments and looked down for a minute. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Do not reprimand yourself so, dear. Most reasonable people greatly fear the pox - and for good reason."

She looked up at him again. "I had no idea the illness was so bad. What happened after that? How does it cause the scars? How long did it last?"

"The skin peels away and nothing but boils are left. I seemed to go in and out of delirium and when I breathed, it sounded like a death rattle. I even smelled like death. I was certain that I was only a foot away from being in the grave. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, my fever broke and I fell into a deep sleep. The malady had lasted about two weeks, but its terrible disfigurements took much longer to heal. At least I did not have the worst of it, for my hands remain almost as fine as they were before and there are only a few marks on the rest of me, but as you can see, it ruined my looks. I am often grateful that a man can grow a beard to cover the worst of the effects, while a woman must spend her life finding creams and paints, tallow and powders to help her face the mirror."

"Your brow feels almost smooth now," she noted, gently touching his forehead and seeming to notice the scars for the first time.

"And by some miracle, I did not lose my eyelashes or brows because it makes you look quite ferocious, like a staring snake. I am grateful for that, and for surviving intact."

"When Isabel saw you, what did she say?" she asked quietly.

"I saw Isabel months later, when my skin had healed, though it was stained and pitted," he told her. "But I had grown a full beard so she could not see its worse effects. When I came to her, I embraced her as before, but she reacted in great revulsion upon seeing me. As she turned away, I said to her, "Isabel - I am still your Fernando. It is still me here."

Margarita felt indignant and upset. _How could that woman do that to you_? she thought. "Why did you call yourself 'Fernando'? she asked, instead of posing the question on the tip of her tongue. "Isn't your name 'Francisco'?

"It was her nickname for me," he explained, "from one of my many given names. I am named after my grandfather and my father. My mother insisted on adding the name Francisco. Actually," he smiled, "I prefer it the best."

"So do I," she affirmed, "after the saint of compassion." She sighed a little herself. "After this meeting, did not Isabel still wish to marry you?"

"I did not believe otherwise. There was so much that we shared - our music, our love of art, culture, and all the old-fashioned things. While this was going on in my private life, much more was happening in the political sphere. Up to that time, I had participated a great deal in the restoration of the king, but there were many intrigues and I ended up on the wrong end of imperial favor. As suddenly as the king demoted me for spurious and false reasons, he announced his opposition to our marriage."

Margarita felt a bit outraged at that. "I would think that whom you married was none of his affair," she exclaimed, "even if he is the king."

"Why, Margarita Pérez," he responded, feigning surprise, "you are beginning to sound like a Republican." When he saw her smile mischievously, he added, "You are right, of course, since everyone knew of our long engagement and both families were in agreement and approved of our marriage. There was something going on behind the scenes that I was not aware of. With the demotions, the personal attack by the king on my engagement, it was like a landslide falling on my head. I was stunned by these events, but nothing grieved me more than when Isabel remained silent. She did nothing to counter the king's statements opposing our marriage, and only told me that she could not oppose the king's command."

Margarita started disliking the woman in the portrait the longer she thought about it. Her face took on an expression of pure disgust.

Francisco noted this and put a hand gently to her cheek. She turned to face him. "You see, Margarita, Isabel had every means at her disposal to oppose the king's declaration, yet, with all her wealth, position, and influence, she did not raise a finger other than to tell me that she still loved me, but would submit to the will of the king anyway. She did not have to."

Margarita shook her head in disbelief because in her own mind she doubted whether Isabel had loved Francisco as much as he had cared for her. The woman's fickleness almost angered her, but she could not feel anger with him there, with him so close. But she felt very guilty and needed to tell him what she had begun to earlier. "Francisco, there is something I need to tell you right now." She looked very distressed.

"Did my story frighten you so much, then, dear?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Francisco," she explained. "It's not about you at all. It's just that, well, it is so hard to know how to begin."

"You know you may tell me anything," he said in a quiet voice, holding her hands that were now trembling.

Her eyes filled with tears in spite of herself. "This morning," she told him, "quite early, my father disinherited me. He had a lawyer come and explain everything. He ordered me out of the house and all my belongings with it. I left. I went to Don César and told him what happened. He took me into his home at once and sent his servants to get my things. He is furious. He told me not to worry about anything, that I would have a home with him and his family."

De las Fuentes looked stunned and was angry a long moment before he sighed and let the emotion pass. "You did right," the officer began. "But this is my fault. I should have taken steps to prevent this."

"Oh, no, Francisco," Margarita exclaimed. "I would never have married Señor Muñoz, no matter what my father did. He just disinherited me to punish me. He thinks that I'll run back to him and submit to his demands, but I won't do it, Francisco, I just won't do it. I would rather have nothing at all than not be in love with the man I am married to!"

He took her into his arms and hugged her a long minute. He was greatly moved by both her determination and her moral courage. "Margarita, dearest," he told her, " you, who have nothing, have stood up to the power of a king - and more than once. Not even Isabel had such courage," he told. "Nor I. You have no idea how much I admire what you have done." He paused. "And now I have something I would like to give you to make up for all my shortcomings, if you will accept it." He released her and proceeded to pull a small silken cloth out of a hidden coin pocket in his trousers near his sash.

She was consumed with curiosity as she watched him carefully untie a golden-colored pouch. When he took out the object, she saw that it, too, was wrapped in another piece of soft material. He pulled the object out and presented it to her for her inspection.

It was a ring and set in its golden band was an inlaid musical note created out of tiny diamonds. It was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. There was a rainbow of colors in the tiny flashes of light as she moved it from side to side. Even as she gazed at it with awe, he took it from her, raised her left hand and slipped it on her finger. "I've never seen anything so beautiful before," she gushed. "Is it really for me?"

He only smiled with his eyes, for his demeanor was serious. "I deeply apologize that it was not originally made for you alone," he told her. "But you are the most deserving of it. I offer you this as my pledge and as an engagement ring." He paused. "Dearest Margarita, will you take this humble captain for your husband in marriage?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears in her happiness as she smiled. "And will you take this disinherited old maid as your wife in marriage?" she asked, throwing her arms around his neck in joy. Both of them laughed together, then she cried. He held her in his arms and felt very happy, moved by her silent assent, even as the pain in his leg now reached out with its long tentacles to almost spoil the moment.

"Oh, Francisco," she wept. "It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen and I don't care if it's original or not. I'm only crying because I'm so happy. You are the only man I've ever wanted to marry."

"Margarita, dearest, are you sure, because you may face danger as my wife since my enemies have already made one attempt to kill me. I would fear for you as well should any further attempts be made," he whispered in her ear.

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life, Francisco," she responded. "We'll face them together. But, are you sure, too, because I wonder if I'm really worthy of you. I'm not even an aristocrat, not like you."

He chuckled at that as she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. "You once asked me if I believed that someone could be sent to you; that someone could be someone else's salvation," he told her. "I now truly believe that, dear. I believe that God has united us through our love of music and the spirituality that links us in this and many other ways. You may not be noble in the eyes of those who surround us, but you are in my eyes - and that is all that matters."

They kissed again and she wiped her eyes. Then she attempted a little humor. "Well, at least you won't have to ask my father's permission to marry me now." She gave a little laugh.

"My dear, I had no intention of asking your father," he declared, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"What?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Ah, your mother would have sufficed," he explained, "for me, that is. And I do intend to ask her permission. If you would like, I will also ask Don César since he is now acting as your guardian."

Margarita beamed at that. "Don César will probably tell you that he has been waiting for your declaration." They both laughed.

"And now, let's go see Padre Felipe to get his blessing," Francisco responded with a smile, enjoying the combination of her humor and gentle teasing. He took her arm in his and they left the room together. "I will tell him that I have finally found the balance."

"So have I," she replied. "And I am happier now than I've ever been in all my life."

*************************

Sergeant García was coming in through the gate when he saw the capitán and Margarita Pérez come out of the comandante's office. He noted the couple walked arm in arm and both had a blissful look on their faces. De las Fuentes barely nodded at the sergeant as they passed.

García halted and turned back toward the officer, "Oh, Comandante…"

The officer stopped in mid-stride. "Yes, Sergeant?" The large man who began to grin hugely distracted him.

"Congratulations, Capitán. Congratulations, Señorita," the sergeant smiled and gave both of them a snappy salute.

"Thank you, Sergeant García," De las Fuentes responded and returned the salute.

When they were both several meters away from the cuartel, Margarita asked, "How did he know, Francisco?"

"Ah," the officer replied. "Those in love are like what our poet Luís de Góngora wrote so long ago:

'Oh, bella Galatea, Oh tú que en dos incluyes las mas bellas' -

'Oh, lovely Galatea, your eyes hold the brightest stars.'

"Those who have known love, recognize the symptoms."

************************************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 21](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante21.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	21. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-one**

Joaquín Enríquez finished counting the objects spread out before him. He had arranged them in a particular fashion and was satisfied. He had "collected" all of the items that he had been searching for, well almost all of them. As for the others, time was growing short and he had one final task in town to accomplish before leaving Los Angeles for good. He was not really sure where he was going, but he would worry about that later.

So far, the soldiers had not returned for another visit to the old shack although they had been in the vicinity just that day. Enríquez knew it was never safe to stay in one place for too long - patterns could be more easily identified, tracks discovered and he had one more problem that he had not counted on - El Zorro was on the side of those who would hunt him down or even jail him again. He thought about Capitán de las Fuentes and decided that he was just another soldier doing his duty, despite what he had told him about his demotion and exile from Spain. This comandante was different, he admitted to himself, but Enríquez almost instinctively distrusted anyone in authority regardless of their personal qualities. Even those who were well meaning never ended up doing him any good, he mused. If De las Fuentes could help him that was one thing; if he was trying to capture him, well, he would not allow that.

Tied to a tree some distance away was a horse he had stolen - temporarily, he told himself. The horse had nickered earlier that day and Joaquín had dived into the bushes expecting the worse. He had dozed off unintentionally and had been caught unawares. As he watched from the bushes, he saw a tall vaquero riding not too far from the trail. The man did not seem to notice anything, not even the sound of the horse from the woods, perhaps being preoccupied by his own thoughts. The fugitive watched him until he disappeared.

In order to make sure that the vaquero would not return and discover him, Joaquín decided he would leave the area that very afternoon. There were plenty of hideouts among the rocks, but in the chilly winter nights, he would need some protection against the elements. He already had made note of a number of hiding places he could move between on a daily basis and not even El Zorro would know where he would be at any time. He was also smart enough to try to cover up any tracks as he moved around, using the branches of a bush to obliterate his tracks.

Joaquín Enríquez pulled the sack over to where he was crouched and began to put all the objects inside. He stopped to appraise each of the items as he placed it in the sack. Soon, everything disappeared in the bundle. Enríquez felt a feeling of satisfaction sweep over him. Against incredible odds he had managed to recover all of the items and not be caught. Now he was ready to commence the last act of his plan and it was the most dangerous and daring: his return to Los Angeles.

************************

Padre Felipe sat on the edge of the bench and crossed his sandaled feet. In the brisk winter months they were encased in light wool. While the mornings were damp and foggy, the sun generally broke out by noon and the rest of the short afternoon was warm. He listened carefully as Don Diego de la Vega explained his curiosity about the Enríquez graves. Were they related to the fugitive, Joaquín Enríquez? he asked.

"Diego, my son, their story is one that stretches far back into the history of Los Angeles," Felipe told Diego. "So far back, that I had almost forgotten." The priest paused. "It is a sad tale and a tragic one, for not all who come to California have been successful in their endeavors to find a better life."

"So, there is a connection between Joaquín and Los Angeles," Diego mused. "Were his parents poor? I notice there is not even a decent headstone for them."

"They did not start out so poor," the priest told him. "This man and his wife came from México to find a better life. The man, Juan, was a metal smith, somewhat average in his accomplishments. He worked hard and earnestly, but sadly, did not have the kind of skills or imagination of his local competitors. He lost money because his talents did not bring him the kind of business he needed to prosper. As his fortunes declined, he turned to drink, as do many men in despair of their livelihoods. As their situation worsened, a child was born to the couple."

"Joaqúin?" asked the young man.

"Yes," replied Felipe. "Joaquín. The father blamed the birth of this unwanted child for the bad turn in his fortune, for he neither wanted nor could afford a child under the circumstances. It broke his wife's heart that he rejected the child."

"Is the grave of María Enríquez that of his mother?" Diego inquired.

"Yes, it is."

"What happened to Joaquín after that? It could not have been easy for any of them," the young don asked.

"Surprisingly, the right thing was done - for the time being. As is typical, even today among the poor, Juan gave his child to his brother-in-law to raise. Maria's brother, Adrian, was my predecessor at the Mission of San Gabriel. Brother Adrian raised, educated and loved the boy as if he were his own. No kinder man could have been found, and no better father. Until the age of seven or eight, Joaquín knew no other life other than helping his guardian care for the poor, listen to the ministrations of kindness and wisdom and reading and discussing all kinds of ideas that Brother Adrian felt was important in understanding what made justice and injustice in the world."

"And yet, Joaquín has turned out to be a thief and a man of violence," exclaimed Diego. "What happened that made such a change in him?"

"This is where the tragedy begins," explained the man in the long, brown Franciscan robes. "After a tranquil life among the mission Indians and daydreaming of the saints and wonders of the natural world, the father, Juan, suddenly reappeared in his life. One day, Father Adrian asked the boy to come into his office. The boy came willingly and unafraid. In the office was a surly-looking man with tangled dark hair. 'Is that the boy?' he asked. The boy seemed to sense that something was wrong and went to the side of his guardian even though the strange man beckoned him over. 'Go to him," Adrian told him. 'Why, Father?" asked the child. 'He is not your 'Father;' the man snarled. The boy became frightened and clung to the priest's robes. The Brother knelt down and took the boys hands into his. He told them that he loved him very much as a son, but now the real father had shown up to claim him. 'I don't want to go with him,' the boy whispered. 'I know,' the priest replied, but I cannot deny you to your father. Now, let us pray.' The boy had to be dragged away.

"Why did Enríquez decide he wanted to reclaim the boy after rejecting him for so many years?" asked Diego.

"The father felt that since the boy was old enough to become an apprentice, he would help contribute the fortunes of the family. From all that we know, Joaquín was a bright boy, imaginative, willing to learn and well liked by all who knew him. These traits, his father felt, could be used to benefit the family or rather the family's business fortunes."

"Did the boy work here in Los Angeles, then?"

"Yes. He was apprenticed to become a metal smith, just like his father. The typical products in demand included candlesticks, snuffboxes, picture frames, pewter wares, and other items. Remember, the boy did not want to go, but had no choice. The life he now encountered was quite a contrast to the one he had known - one of daily beatings and hunger if he did not do the work right. Frightened and nervous, the boy did not learn as quickly as his father demanded. This resulted in savage beatings. The boy ran away repeatedly and when apprehended, was treated even worse. The father even used a club and the child was beaten into unconsciousness. Father Adrian appeared to take the boy back, but Juan beat him as well, driving him away with kicks and blows. Adrian was an elderly man and could not force the situation.

"How barbaric," commented Diego heatedly. "Now I understand more of what Señor Enríquez talked about at the hearing. Did anyone try to help him at all?"

Padre Felipe shook his head sadly. "People pitied the boy, but few lifted a finger, mainly out of fear of the father and out of the belief that it was none of their business to interfere in family matters, regardless of how bad it looked."

"How about the illness that he now manifests? Was he sickly as a child and this illness contribute to a worsening of relations between him and his father?"

"To my knowledge, the child never manifested any symptoms of his current malady," Felipe told him. "Not until his fourteenth year. Then the 'twitching illness,' as Capitán de las Fuentes calls it, began. The father accused the boy of shamming and the beatings continued. Juan's drinking became worse as the family fortune did not improve much. One evening even the neighbors had to drag him away from the boy because of the blows and kicking to the head after the child was prone on the ground."

Diego looked horrified. "Did not anyone try to put a stop to this savagery?" he asked in indignation.

Felipe nodded. "Father Adrian came back and attempted to intervene. He even asked the comandante, a Capitán Sierra, to arrest the man. Sierra did so and kept the father in jail for ten days, about the maximum he felt he could hold him without any real charges. Besides, it was not his job to oversee family problems. He did it out of genuine concern for the boy and because the neighbors were so indignant. He might have taken the boy into the army, but the affliction that he witnessed meant that the military would be no escape for a fourteen year old boy."

"What about his mother?"

Felipe looked beyond his young friend to the rows of roses near the far wall. Very few flowers were left now that the colder weather set in. He sighed. "As is the custom, María Enríquez bowed her head and did what she was told. When the beatings were over, she sought to nurse him as best she could. There was no money to take him to a proper doctor and she sought out the services of Señora Montoya, the curadora, who lived not too far from here at the time. Although she could mend the broken bones and bruised skin, she could not mend the spirit. Over time, and finding no recourse, the boy became sullen and angry with everyone. He could see the indignation and sympathy in the eyes of many, but almost no one tried to put a stop to his nightmare existence. Then, one day, Joaquín disappeared."

"Disappeared?" asked Diego. "Did he finally succeed in running away?"

"No one was sure," answered Felipe. "Many feared the father had killed his own son, for some felt there was nothing he would not do to the boy. About five years later, the father was killed in a fight outside the tavern. He had lost almost everything because most people avoided him and he got no business. Sad to say, there was no one left to mourn his death. The mother moved out of the community as soon as he was buried. No one knew where she went, but it was rumored she had been seen in San Diego. A few years ago, an old woman returned to Los Angeles to die. She was buried in the graveyard, but not next to her husband. It was felt that not even God would want to do that to her. She is, as you can see, a few graves away. After a while, almost everyone forgot about the couple that had never fit in with the community. And almost everyone forgot about the boy until about two years ago."

"My father told me that Enríquez had come to work for him two years ago while I was in Spain," Diego told the priest. "He indicated that the man had many problems and he had to dismiss him. I wonder why Enríquez sought work with my father?"

"This should come as no surprise to you, Diego," Felipe told him. "But your father was one of the people in our pueblo who tried to help Joaquín. These events happened before you were born and when you were a baby. Once in town, your father had restrained his father and so Joaquín sought him out as a protector. Don Alejandro had allowed the child to live and do small chores at the hacienda one of the times he had run away. After a few weeks, the father, suddenly showed up to claim the child. Alejandro told him that he did not deserve his son and gave him a lecture about how to treat a child. The man listened to your father but then told him to mind his own business. Even your own mother tried to persuade Alejandro not to turn the child over to the man, but Alejandro told her that, unfortunately, the law was on the side of the father, and there was little he could do other than register complaints with the authorities."

"Did Father ever complain after that incident?" Diego asked.

"Yes, he did," the priest told him emphatically. "As a matter of fact, he located a lawyer who would have helped getting the boy returned to the guardianship of the priest, but Joaquín's mother was too frightened to agree and that put an end to that. Joaquín must have remembered both your father's kindness as well as his efforts on his behalf. That is why he sought work with the Hacienda when he returned to Los Angeles, now a man."

"But something had happened to him," remarked Diego. "My father was more than willing to give him work, but told me that Joaquín had gotten into fights, began to drink, and neglected his duties."

"Your father, who is a busy man and who was in San Pedro on business, only got reports on what had occurred," Felipe told him sadly. "He was not in a position at the time to investigate what actually happened."

"What did happen?" Diego inquired, surprised that his father might have been misinformed as to the goings-on at the hacienda.

"I myself only found out recently that Joaquín's tendency to not obey authority got him into trouble with the head vaquero at your rancho, Emiliano Lorca. Lorca witnessed his illness once and decided to use it against Enríquez. He accused Joaquín of shirking his duties and drinking. He encouraged the other vaqueros to make trouble, even start fights with him. Based on these reports, Alejandro made the decision to dismiss Enríquez. At the same time, he gave him a month's wages as compensation which is customary among some of the old rancheros."

"As I understand it, Lorca was dismissed by my father only last year," Diego commented. "My father said that he discovered that he was making inaccurate reports and that he had begun to hear stories of misconduct from his neighbors." He paused. "I am sure that if he had known about what was done to Enríquez, he may have tried to rehire him in order to give him another chance." He shook his head. "No wonder Señor Enríquez feels that the world is full of falseness and treachery."

"But it still does not excuse his recent thefts or disrespectful behavior towards our current comandante," Felipe reminded him.

"No, it does not," Diego agreed. "But I wonder what is behind it all. From what I have heard, his thefts appear to be selective." He paused. "By the way, Padre, has Enríquez ever come to see you? And what ever became of Padre Adrian? Is he still alive?"

Felipe nodded. "He came once, long ago, to inquire about Padre Adrian, his uncle. I had the sad duty of informing him that my predecessor had died just before my own appointment."

"Where is his uncle buried?" asked Diego.

"I will show you," Felipe informed him, rising up from the bench and walking toward the roses. "He is buried here in the churchyard among the flowers he loved so well and among his people that he served so faithfully. He is buried by the statue of San Francisco, his own request."

"I imagine that he was greatly saddened by what happened to Joaquín," Diego remarked as he stood before the small statue carved out of white granite. Both men stood before the statue for several moments before the padre turned to the young man.

"And I am greatly saddened to tell you of a most unfortunate incident that just occurred this morning to a mutual friend of ours, Diego."

"And what is that?" the young man asked.

"Señorita Margarita was disinherited by her father and forced out of her home. Her mother is now in the chapel. She cannot be consoled at this time."

************************

As Don Diego de la Vega crossed the plaza to the solicitor's office, Padre Felipe closed the door to his office and sat down at his desk lost in thought for the moment. It was only a few minutes later that he heard a quiet knock on the door from the corridor outside the his office that came from the chapel. He rose to answer it, calling out, "Please come in." Before he reached the door, it opened and he saw Margarita Pérez coming in with a shy but quiet smile on her face.

"Good morning, Margarita," Felipe began. "I see you are doing better than earlier this morning. Have you been in the chapel long? Can I help you with anything?"

"Well, yes, Padre," she responded. There was something in her demeanor that made the good priest wonder if the father had forgiven the daughter so soon because the young woman looked happy, even eager to see him.

"Won't you sit down?" he asked. "Tell me what is happening." He returned to his chair and she sat down in a chair opposite him quietly fidgeting for a moment. "Has the situation at home taken a turn for the better?"

Margarita looked down a minute as if searching for the right words and was solemn a moment. "No, Padre, it has not. But I am here about a different matter." She looked up at him and could not conceal her joy for long. "Do you remember when I told you a few days ago that I had met the most wonderful man in the world?" she asked. "And that I did not want to marry anyone but him?"

"I most certainly do," Felipe responded, sitting forward with anticipation. This was an unanticipated development.

"Well, I did what you told me to and now I want you to meet him," she said "He is here right now." When she saw him nod, she stood up at once.

Felipe rose with a smile as well. This was indeed good news and would probably help change the circumstances she found herself in. "Do ask him in," he told her in great expectation. He was very curious as to which man had won the heart of Margarita Pérez.

She went to the door and peered around the corner. She was smiling and said in a quiet voice, "Padre Felipe is ready to see us now, sweetheart."

Felipe heard the wooden floor creak outside and a few slow steps being taken toward the door. He was surprised to see Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes come around the corner and intertwine his arm through that of Margarita Pérez. "Your Excellency?" Felipe exclaimed in surprise.

"Good morning, Padre Felipe," the acting comandante of Los Angeles said, stepping into the room. "We have come to seek your blessing for a most auspicious event."

*****************************

Benito Ávila rode into town. Normally, he would ignore situations that did not involve himself or endanger the well being of the De la Vegas, who were his employers and men he respected and liked. But this time, the vaquero felt that the passing on of information to the comandante of the pueblo was justified. As he approached the cuartel, the mestizo thought what a difference it was that Capitán de las Fuentes was in charge. If it had been Capitán Monastario, he would have never bothered to come into town or lift a finger to help out the garrison commander. Benito remembered his unpleasant encounters with Monastario, especially the cruel sword cut to the face he received at the Torres hacienda and his near hanging for trying to free the Señorita Elena and her mother from the clutches of that official.

It was early afternoon when Benito tied up his horse outside the cuartel and asked to see the comandante. The soldiers informed him that the capitán was not at the cuartel, but that he could wait. Ávila fidgeted a while, walking around the plaza and chatting with the young lady, Teresa, who sold tamales at her wooden stand. Finally, he spotted Sergeant García crossing the plaza. He politely broke off his conversation with Señorita Teresa and approached the stout soldier.

"Ah, Benito," García greeted him. "What brings you into the pueblo today?"

"I have some important information to give to the comandante," Ávila told the big man. "And I need to see him about a personal matter."

"What kind of information?" García asked. "You can tell me anything you can tell the comandante."

"Well, this is very important," the stocky vaquero told him. "I thought that Capitán de las Fuentes should be told directly. Besides the personal matter involves the comandante himself."

"The comandante is not here right now," the soldier told him. "That is why you can tell me anything that you mean to tell Capitán de las Fuentes."

"All right," the vaquero told him. "Only be sure to get this message to him right away."

"And what is the message?"

"First of all, there is the matter of the hearing the other day."

"What is so important about that? You were freed, Benito," the sergeant told him.

"Yes, I know, but there is a certain matter that pertains to this that I must see him about," the vaquero insisted. "And the second matter involves the fugitive."

García perked up at that and he became excited. "Have you seen Señor Enríquez?" he asked in some agitation. "Where is he? When did you see him?"

"I will tell all of this to the comandante," insisted Benito. He folded his hands across his chest and looked very determined.

García poked a finger at the vaquero. "Benito," he ordered. "You stay right here. I will go fetch the comandante at once." The fat sergeant gestured to the soldiers at the gate. "See to it that Benito does not leave," he commanded. The soldiers nodded and approached the mestizo who stood calmly watching the sergeant hasten across the plaza toward the church. Despite the soldiers standing behind him with rifles drawn, Benito had to smile at the huge soldier's swaying form _. I have never seen such a fat fellow move as fast as García does_ , he thought. He turned back towards the two soldiers. "I am more than happy to await the arrival of Capitán de las Fuentes," he told them.

***************************

Padre Felipe brought María Pérez into his office from the chapel. She had been in the first pew nearest the altar. Covered in black from head to foot, bowed and on her knees, not even her daughter had seen her. The priest found María still at her prayers and whispered to her that her daughter needed to see her in his office. María rose slowly and painfully, allowing Felipe to gently guide her past the wooden alter and take the small corridor that led to his office. She wore a dark veil that covered her face. Although she hurt all over from the beating she received from her husband, nothing ached more than her heart. Sebastian had not even allowed her to be present when he had the lawyer formally order Margarita from their home.

It had been mid-morning when her husband left the house for his office in the leather goods store. Shortly after that, Doctor Aguilera had arrived and insisted on examining her. At first she had resisted, but he finally convinced her to let him tend to her injuries and examine her for broken bones. He told her that Margarita had requested his visit and was very concerned. He found only extensive purple bruises and her great distress.

As she entered the office, she was surprised to see Capitán de las Fuentes standing next to Margarita. _Of course_ , she thought _. He would be one of the first to find out what happened to Margarita_. She faced her daughter who gave her a very concerned gaze. As her daughter embraced her, she whispered for her to take care. She refused to lift her veil and would not let Margarita see her face. She sat down wearily, as if exhausted. Margarita held her hands.

"Mother, are you all right?" her daughter insisted. "What did he do to you?"

"I'll be better soon," the thin woman told her daughter in a tired voice. "Don't be concerned about that just now." She looked up at the army officer who approached her.

"Doña María," he began, "is there anything I can do for you?" His distress for her condition and situation was evident both in his voice as well as his manner.

She shook her head. "Thank you, Don Francisco, but no. I am most concerned about Margarita. I am sure that you understand."

Felipe joined the officer standing before her. "Doña María, we are all here to bring some good tidings to you in the midst of these terrible events. I trust you will take great hope and satisfaction in what we are about to tell you."

The thin woman looked up at the small officer who stood before her, then glanced at her daughter who sat next to her with such a hopeful smile on her face. María tried to focus on his words rather than the pain she felt all over her body. The realization came to her when Margarita showed her the ring on her left finger. María almost gasped as she gazed at the inlaid diamonds through her veil. She suddenly realized what she was being asked and felt a great sense of relief. "Oh, Margarita, I'm so happy for you." She hugged her daughter right away.

"Oh, Don Francisco," she breathed, looking up at the officer. "Of course, I approve." She put an arm around her daughter's waist. "You are the only man Margarita will marry." She almost laughed at her own words. How absurd they sounded at a time like this. She saw the bearded man smile and wink at Margarita. Then she hesitated. "There is only one thing I am concerned about."

"What is that, Mother?" her daughter asked, looking up at the Spanish officer in curiosity and then back again to her mother.

"Well, please forgive, me," the veiled woman said, addressing the officer, "but I am concerned about Margarita living in a cuartel with all those rough soldiers. You must know that my daughter has grown up in a fine home with a piano and curtains on the windows."

Francisco nodded in understanding. "I assure you, Doña María, that Margarita will be well cared for. You need not fear for her in this regard."

"Of course, I'll be all right, Mother," Margarita interjected. "I'm not worried about that at all. What matters to me is that I will be with Francisco."

"I know you aren't worried about these things," the mother insisted, "but I am. People in love rarely think about the kind of home they are going to live in or whether they have enough suitable clothes to make themselves respectable." She turned to De las Fuentes again. "I know you love Margarita, Don Francisco, it's just that I want to be certain that Margarita will not want for a good home."

The officer was very respectful of her concerns. He sat down carefully next to María and took one of her gloved hands in his. "Allow me, if I may, to describe a room in my home in Spain," he told her. "I hope it will give you an indication that you have nothing to fear in terms of Margarita's comfort and security."

María nodded and held her daughter's hand with her other hand while waiting to hear what the officer had to say.

Francisco thought a moment. "It is my favorite room," he began solemnly. "It is our music room."

Father Felipe smiled as he watched the two women listen intently to the description of a place he had actually seen himself.

"In order to arrive at the music hall you must first walk through the front room which has many windows and quite a few plants that give it a cheerful decor. There is a long corridor with high ceilings that runs east to west," the Spanish officer told them. "The corridor is of black speckled marble and it leads past some minor rooms. Looking ahead, one can see black iron-wrought works on the right at the entrance to the room. The motive is musical with dancers and vines. As you enter the hall you see great windows overlooking the inner courtyard down below with all its trees, flowers and fountains. The high windows fill the room with light and face southward. The windows are arched. During the winter months, drapes of matching red are pulled to keep in the warmth. On the floor is a red and gold-trimmed rug that stretches the length and breadth of the room. Standing before the tall windows is a grand piano of mahogany. Several feet away is a large Irish floor harp. The walls are covered with gold damask both for appearance as well as to guard against the chill of winter. Paintings of musicians playing and dancers reveling hang from the walls. At each end of the hall are settees and individual chairs arranged so that visitors may relax and enjoy the music played or to sit and discuss cultural matters. Through one end of the room a corridor continues. Right off the corridor one finds small compartments where other musical instruments are stored, such as violins, guitars, violas, flutes, and more. There is a great fireplace at the other end of the hall. Over the fireplace is another large painting. It is fairly old and depicts all the members of my immediate family posing with our favorite instruments." He smiled. 'I was actually in my early teens when the painting was done, so it is quite dated."

The room was silent after he finished speaking. "That's _just_ your music room?" asked Margarita. "Oh, my." She was positively awed by the description.

María found herself wondering what the rest of the house looked like, but she took the commentary in stride. "A music hall like that should make Margarita quite happy," she said contentedly. "It sounds quite elegant and comfortable. Thank you, Don Francisco. I feel much better now."

"I want to let you know that I have seen this room myself," Padre Felipe told the two women with some enthusiasm. "I could not have described it so well as Don Francisco, but it is magnificent. Even the ceilings are painted with frescos of the angels of Heaven celebrating and playing music. I am sure that it will be a source of great inspiration and creativity in all who go there."

The priest was interrupted by a vigorous knock at the door. He went over and opened it. Standing outside was Sergeant García who looked very anxious. "Pardon me, Padre Felipe," he said. "But I have some very important news for the comandante. Is he here?"

De las Fuentes arose at once. "By your leave, Ladies," he said excusing himself. They rose with him.

Sgt Garcia watched the officer move forward from his chair. "Your pardon, Comandante," he gasped excitedly.

"What is it, Sergeant?" asked De las Fuentes. The sergeant was quite out of breath.

"It is Enríquez. He has been spotted near the Old Shack! Benito Ávila is at the cuartel! He reports that he has seen Enriquez. He is there now!"

"Very well," Francisco responded. He turned to Margarita and her mother. "Dear ladies, I regret that I must leave to attend to this most urgent matter. I will endeavor to see you again this evening."" He stepped forward to bow and kiss their hands.

"But, Francisco," objected Margarita. "You are ill. Your leg - you should tend to that first."

"Yes, Your Excellency," insisted the priest. "Let the other soldiers apprehend this man. You are limping badly."

"I’m afraid that I am the only one he will listen to," the officer replied, addressing the priest. "If Señor Enríquez is not detained now, I fear the worst for him – and for others. He turned back toward Margarita and took her hand, patting it. "As to the medical matter, I will tend to it when I return, I promise." He nodded to her mother and repeated himself. "By your leave, I will see you this evening if all goes well or perhaps on the morrow. With your permission?" He bowed again and left with the sergeant. No one but the sergeant saw him stumble over the low steps after the door closed. García caught his arm and they moved across the plaza toward the cuartel.

Margarita turned back to María and Felipe after he closed the door. "I’m very worried about him. He is in a great deal of pain from his leg." She clasped both hands together and held them near her heart.

Her mother put her arms around her daughter and hugged her. "Don Francisco is a very fine man," she said. "Putting others ahead of himself."

Felipe nodded in agreement, but he thought, T _his is one time I wish you would put yourself first_ , _my prince._  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 22](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante22.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	22. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-two**

The stout Sergeant took small steps as he crossed the plaza with his commanding officer. García watched the small man try not to limp as he headed toward the cuartel. It seemed as if it took a very long time to travel the short distance to the gates of the garrison.

Capitán de las Fuentes looked across the plaza and noted the soldiers standing around Benito Ávila. As he approached, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The soldiers resumed their posts at the gates of the cuartel. He walked right up to the stocky vaquero who removed his hat in respect.

"Good afternoon, Señor Ávila," the captain began. "I understand that you wish to see me regarding an urgent matter."

"Sí, Comandante," Benito responded. "There is a personal matter as well as some information I wish to give you regarding the fugitive." He looked at García as if the other was intruding.

"Ah," responded the officer, taking note of the man's hesitation to speak in front of the sergeant. "Would you care to step inside my office to discuss this?"

"Thank you, Capitán," the vaquero nodded. He waited momentarily as the officer turned to the large man next to him.

"Sergeant, would you assemble six lancers and prepare them for departure in ten minutes?" asked De las Fuentes.

García saluted, "At once, Comandante!" He watched both men enter the cuartel and then followed at a discreet distance and began to pick the men who would join them.

Once inside the office, De las Fuentes turned to the vaquero. "How may I help you, Señor Ávila?" he asked.

Benito hesitated a moment. His eyes went past the officer's shoulders and he remembered momentarily the hearing, the room crowded with townspeople, and how different it looked now. The vaquero was surprised to see a vase of bright flowers on the desk of the comandante and he thought briefly how brutally he had been treated by Capitán Monastario once in the same room. "Your pardon, Capitán," he began. "One matter concerns the hearing." He paused, hesitating to continue. It was as if he feared bringing up a topic that might offend the officer. "I received real justice at the hearing, Comandante, and for that I am very grateful, " he insisted. "But there is one thing that troubles me. I hope I cause no offense." His voice trailed off.

Francisco shifted slightly to take the pressure off his right leg, which had begun to throb very uncomfortably. Nevertheless, he looked up at the taller man and encouraged him with a smile. "Please tell me what concerns you. Do speak up."

Emboldened by the mildness of the response, the vaquero came to the point. "Capitán de las Fuentes, ten pesos is a lot of money. I know what Angel and Tomás did was wrong. I understand that they must take responsibility for their actions. But I have known these men for many years and they are not bad men. If it is permitted, I would like to return these ten pesos to you so that they can be used to help Angel and Tomás pay their fines." He paused. "Begging your pardon, Comandante, we vaqueros are not princes. It is hard for vaqueros to pay such large fines. I just want to help them, if I can." His words trailed off again.

De las Fuentes listened solemnly to Benito's words. He was impressed with the man's loyalty and concern for his fellows. He understood the man's hesitation in light of what he had heard about Capitán Monastario's intolerance and he noted the man's respectful demeanor. More important, though, was the not-so-subtle suggestion that perhaps the fines had been a bit too high for men of such humble station in life.

"I am impressed by your concern to do well for your comrades," Francisco told Benito. "It seems to be an admirable trait of all Californians whom I have so far encountered." He smiled again to put the vaquero more at ease. "The money is, of course, yours, to do whatever you please. If you wish to put it towards the fines of Señores Ledesma and Robello, then I shall honor your request."

Benito pulled a small leather bag from his leather jacket and handed it to the officer. "These are the ten pesos." He watched as De las Fuentes took the bag and went to the desk. He opened a drawer, pulled out a small strongbox and opened it. He took out the coins and put them in the box without counting them. He then returned the bag to the vaquero. "Do you not wish to count them?" the stocky man asked in surprise.

"There is no need, Señor Avila," the officer responded. "Your actions speak for themselves."

Benito looked down at the hat in his hands. "Your Excellency," he began. "No one but Don Alejandro and his son, Don Diego, have ever treated me like, well, like a man before. I am grateful." He remembered how Capitán Monastario had called him by his first name, the way one would address a child, a dog, or a lowly servant. This comandante gave him the courtesy of addressing him as a señor, as a man worthy of a title, no matter how humble his station in life.  


"Why not?" asked the captain. "Do not all honest subjects of the king deserve no less?"

"I am called a 'half-breed,' Capitán," the vaquero confessed. "My mother is an Indian and my father was Spanish. I am regarded by many as 'inferior.' " Benito still looked down at the floor.

Francisco was quiet for several moments as he considered the pain of the man who stood before him - the pain of injustice and humiliation that such a stigma wrought. He felt that he could empathize with this man due to his own experiences at the hands of the current king. "Señor Avila," he told the man. "A man of honor, no matter what his breed, is one to be cherished for these qualities. Such men strengthen our kingdom. A scoundrel in silk is still a scoundrel."

Benito looked up, nodding at the truth of the officer's words. "Thank you, Your Excellency." He suddenly remembered his other mission. "Oh, I almost forgot. I saw the fugitive just an hour ago. He was at the Old Shack. He must have not heard me approach. I saw him leap into some bushes. At the same time, a horse nickered from the woods. I recognized the sound, Señor Comandante, because it is the mare belonging to Juan Díaz, a vaquero, whose horse was stolen only yesterday. This horse knows me, too, Capitán, because I trained her a long time ago."

"Where is this 'Old Shack?" asked De las Fuentes.

"It is on a back trail between the main road and the De la Vega rancho," answered the vaquero. "It is almost hidden in the trees and near some great rocks and an arroyo that leads to a lake. The soldiers were there two days ago to search the place. He might have not been there at the time."

"Thank you, for sharing this information, Señor Avila," Francisco told him. "We will leave for the area at once. Without loyal men like yourself, our kingdom would not prosper and justice would suffer."

*****************************

The pounding of horses’ hooves along the main road leading to the De la Vega rancho raised a cloud of dirt. About half a league past the main road, a troop of seven soldiers and their capitán veered off onto a trail and followed a path that led them past tall trees, small clearings of grasses and rocks, a path about as wide as two head of longhorn cattle. As the troop neared their destination, the captain had the men slow their pace. Within a few hundred yards, the horses walked and, finally, the soldiers dismounted and approached the Old Shack on foot, quietly and with stealth in order to take its occupant unawares.

There were sudden shouts and gunshots sounded in the air. The woods were alive with soldiers charging and Joaquín Enríquez found himself dodging among the bushes and rocks to escape them.

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes remained in his saddle with the horses and watched the soldiers search the bushes and give chase to the fugitive. He knew he could not dismount without pain and so, preferred to watch the action from horseback. Nearby he heard the rustling of bushes and put his hand on the saddle holster. Then the head of Sergeant García emerged and the big man approached him.

"Capitán, Enríquez is climbing over the rocks to escape. The men are going after him on foot."

"What is on the other side of these rocks?" asked the officer.

"A road runs along a small lake and river," the soldier answered. "The road runs north into the De la Vega lands. It is a small trail, Comandante, very narrow, but it rejoins this trail further up past the river. If we go back up the road from where we first came, the fork in the road leads to the other side of these rocks."

"Ah," replied De las Fuentes. "Sergeant, remount, and follow the road south. Señor Enríquez may try to hide in the many canyons of the De la Vega rancho. If you can intercept him before he gets that chance, it would be good. I will double back to the fork in the road and take the old trail on the other side. With any luck, at least one of us will catch him if the soldiers do not. Fire a shot into the air if you have success."

"Sí, Comandante," García responded and mounted his horse. Both men soon disappeared in opposite directions in a cloud of dust.

Joaquín Enríquez scrambled over the rocks, dodging pistol fire that returned his own shots. He ducked under bushes and crawled around rocks. He knew he could lose the soldiers if he could make it to the lake and swim to the other side. The thorny bushes tore at his clothing and he had lost his hat among the trees and scrub brush. At last he came to the lake and climbed down the rocks. Despite the coolness of the flowing water, he dove in and began swimming across the lake towards the reeds and the river that flowed in to it. There were more boulders and rocks that would block their view. He was half way across before he heard shots being fired. He briefly saw the forms of two soldiers standing on the rocks, now far away, firing at him in vain. The branches and brush in the lake served to obscure and protect him. He headed toward the river and marsh reeds where he would leave the waters. His feet finally touched rock bottom and he began to wade ashore, chest deep. As he looked up he saw something ahead, something that made him hesitate - a large brown form pawing at the waters. It was a bear trying to catch a fish. Enriquez floated to the other side of the river in order not to catch the bear's attention. He then climbed up onto the rocks that overlooked the river. He did not know that Capitán de las Fuentes who was making his way slowly and cautiously along the road had now spotted him.

The comandante followed the narrow trail some distance and forced himself to concentrate on the landscape ahead. He saw the rock formations that overlooked the small lake and he noted the many inlets, surrounded by trees, scrub and marsh reeds as the trail led from higher grounds down to the lake. He had broken out in a sweat again and his lower right leg throbbed. For a few seconds he even felt dizzy. He prayed he would find Enríquez soon and get back to the cuartel quickly. He began to realize he had ignored the leg infection for far too long. Then suddenly, as if in answer to his prayers, he saw the fugitive. The man was faced away from him and seemed to be looking down at something. Francisco urged his horse forward. As he approached the rocks he saw how the land led down to some marshes. He was convinced that Enríquez would try to escape down the rocks and that is where he would intercept him.

Joaquín Enríquez began to climb over the rocks. Across the trail was a meadow of dried grasses and old oak trees. He did not want to take the chance that the soldiers would spot him from across the lake and return to the area to hunt for him. Most importantly, he had to avoid the bear. While such animals tried to avoid humans whenever possible, they were very territorial and one never knew how they would react to the sudden appearance of a human in a river or in a meadow.

As he turned to look away from the sun, he spotted De las Fuentes galloping toward him on the trail. He glanced back and saw the bear begin to lumber its way onto land. It suddenly occurred to him what would happen. He turned toward the officer and began to wave his arms. "Stop, Capitán, stop! There is danger here! Stop!" he shouted. He began to climb downwards through the rocks.

Francisco de las Fuentes did not hear what the fugitive vaquero was shouting over the thunder of hooves. He only saw the man beginning to descend on the other side of the great boulders. As he reached the edge of the rocks, he turned the horse toward the marshes. Then, too late, he saw it. Galloping horse and striding bear almost collided as each rounded the rocks at the same time.

Francisco felt the horse shy, then rear in alarm. The pain in his right leg prevented him from gripping the sides of the saddle effectively. Then, he too, saw the bear. It looked like a huge apparition rising out of the ground. The mare squealed in fear. The bear, also taken by surprise, raised itself up in alarm, then let out a roar of warning. The mare twisted and turned to get out of the way, stumbling over the rocks and into the mud that led to the waters edge.

On the boulders above, Enríquez watched with a kind of horrified fascination as the events unfolded with amazing rapidity. He watched the Spanish officer struggle to maintain his seat as the horse veered into the chilly waters. The bear feinted, then charged at the horse to frighten her. The mare turned and bucked, flashing her hind hooves in the air before fleeing. The bear saw a form on her back tumble into the waters. It distracted him. He saw the mare take flight across the waters, then turn into the nearby meadows, and felt triumphant. Now he went to inspect the creature that flailed in the shallow waters. It did not take him long to smell Man. Man was a threat, but this one looked vulnerable as it splashed away from him. The bear smelled blood and it brought out its aggression. It lumbered after the man in the water. Far above, Enriquez shouted and cursed at the bear. He began to throw stones -every one he could find - in the direction of the great creature.

The shock of the cold water and the roaring of the charging bruin frightened the officer almost out of his wits. He was not a swimmer and had always regretted never having been instructed - a major flaw in his upbringing, he thought. He managed to reach the muddy reeds. From somewhere a voice reached him commanding him to play dead. He was more than willing. He collapsed into the damp reeds, barely moving. He closed his eyes and slowly began to curl up. He almost forgot the pain in his leg, such was his terror. He felt the ground move around him and smelled a beast like none other. He did not move, but felt as if his body was trembling all over, betraying him.

The bear paused over the form of Man. He sniffed it in curiosity. The creature was not moving. But the bear smelled blood and knew it was wounded. The bear pawed at the man to see if it would stir.

Francisco knew he could not move. He tried to think of what had happened earlier in the day - of the ring he gave Margarita and of her joyous tears; of Padre Felipe's blessing and Sergeant García's snappy salute. But now he was freezing cold and a great brown bear stood over him, sniffing at his prone body. He began to lose consciousness, thinking – _what a way to die – in the wilderness and alone, far from Spain_. He felt the pain in his body and the bruises from the stones. _Dear God_ , he prayed, _why did you bring me to California to do justice; to meet Margarita and fall in love with her, if only to have me eaten by a grizzly bear? How far could a prince fall into disfavor?_ Before he blacked out, his last thoughts were - _It must be the curses of witches and warlocks…_."

********************

Something must have gone wrong, thought Sergeant García, after waiting almost half an hour for a shot or some sign of the fugitive. He headed back toward the Old Shack and encountered two of the soldiers who reported that they had seen the fugitive on rocks on the other side of the lake. "Did any of you hear a shot from the comandante?" García asked.

The soldiers shook their heads. Private Hugo Ríos spoke up. "He might be too far away for us to have heard him, Sergeant."

García nodded. He called out in a loud voice. "Lancers! Prepare mount up and follow me!" Within a few minutes, the other soldiers returned and all of them set out for the lake. As they approached the fork in the road, they saw a saddled brown horse without a rider cantering far down the road ahead of them.

"That's the comandante's horse!" exclaimed the sergeant. He turned to one of the lancers,"You, Díaz, fetch her at once." It took the soldier some time to catch up to and return with the mare. By then, the rest of the soldiers had ridden down the old trail towards the lake. After several hours of searching the rocks, the only thing they found was the officer's hat floating near the shallows. García shouted himself hoarse the rest of the afternoon as they searched the road and waters. Only when it began to get dark did the troopers return reluctantly to the cuartel in Los Angeles.

**********************

Diego de la Vega mounted his palomino and headed toward the pueblo of Los Angeles with his faithful manservant, Bernardo. Taking the wide road at an easy canter, he hoped to reach the pueblo just before dark. Diego was looking forward to a relaxing evening at the posada. Ever since Francisco de las Fuentes had become comandante of the pueblo, there were few concerns for the well-being of the subjects of the king of that needed to be addressed outside of the capitán's authority. The young don enjoyed the easy gait past the outcrops, meadows and numerous oak trees that covered the hills. He was halfway to his destination when he came upon six troopers and Sergeant García who were headed back to the pueblo. Diego rode up alongside the fat sergeant and noted his forlorn features as well as the downcast expressions of the soldiers.

"Good evening, Sergeant García," the young man in a brown ranchero's outfit greeted him.

"Oh, good evening, Don Diego," the sergeant replied in a distracted way.

"Isn't this Capitán de las Fuentes' mount?" observed Diego, nodding towards the mare with no rider that accompanied García. He became concerned and gave Bernardo a look of alarm. "Where is Capitán de las Fuentes?"

"A very bad thing has happened, Don Diego," García told him, slowing down his horse almost to a halt. "Capitán de las Fuentes drowned in the river."

"What did you say?" responded Diego in astonishment and dismay. "What do you mean he is drowned in the river? Where is the body? What happened?"

"I do not know, Don Diego. We were chasing the fugitive, Enríquez. Shots were exchanged. We chased him over the rocks down to the river. The comandante told me to follow the road south to intercept Enríquez if he attempted to escape along the trail onto your lands. He himself turned to the north and rode to the old trail that runs alongside the lake and river. The soldiers saw Enríquez jump into the river and swim across. Then the bandit disappeared. When I waited a long time to hear from the comandante and he did not return, we went to look for him. All we found was his horse far down the trail. We went to the lake and found bear tracks and signs of struggle. We rode out into the lake and only found this," the sergeant held out De las Fuentes' hat in his hand. "This is all that we found." He looked very sad.

"Why aren't you still looking for him now?" exclaimed Diego in agitation. "If there was a fight between the fugitive and the capitán, Don Francisco, might have been wounded. Did you not search the marshes? Did you not call out to him? Did you not follow the bear tracks, did you not….?"

The big man held up his hand to stop the flow of words from the young man on the golden-colored horse. "Don Diego," he interrupted in a weary voice, "My soldiers and I have shouted ourselves hoarse calling for the comandante. We rode deep into the waters of the lake, we searched the rocks, and we searched the meadow across the road. There is nothing else we can do now. It is getting too dark to see or to find anyone. I have no choice but to head back to the pueblo."

"Sergeant García," Diego replied in the most authoritative voice he could muster. "When you get back to town, gather all the men you can muster together. Get torches and lanterns. Head back to the lake. If Capitán de las Fuentes is there, we must find him. There is a good chance that, even wounded, he would be able to get to the main road."

"Don Diego," García told him. "Capitán de las Fuentes is already wounded and sick. Despite this, he insisted on trying to capture Enríquez. He believes that the bandit will only surrender to him alone. Capitán de las Fuentes wants to give Enríquez justice, not to have him killed."

"Did Enríquez wound the comandante?" asked Diego.

"Oh, no, Don Diego," the soldier explained. "Capitán de las Fuentes is suffering from an old sword wound in his leg. It is badly inflamed. He was to have seen the doctor upon his return. He even had a fever last night."

"Then it is even more imperative that he be found," Diego declared. "Ride, Sergeant! Ride to the pueblo as if the very Devil were chasing you and bring back the town! This may be the only chance we have to save the comandante's life. I will ride back to the hacienda and bring out my father and other rancheros and their servants! We must find the comandante before it is too late."

"Sí, Don Diego," the sergeant responded becoming very animated himself. "We must save the life of our comandante." He turned to the soldiers. "Lancers! Back! Back to the pueblo as fast as we can. We must save our comandante!" With that the troopers rode off at a full gallop.

Diego and Bernardo turned back along the trail they had come. "I know a short cut that will cut our time back almost in half," he told the man who galloped at his side and held onto his hat with one hand. "A shortcut known only to a man called 'El Zorro.'"

*******************

Margarita and her mother sat in the sala at the Rodríguez home. Margarita's friends, Ismaida, Juanita, Josefina, and Señora Ramona Rodríguez surrounded them. María was very proud when her daughter announced that she was now engaged to be married to the comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes. The other girls expressed delight and satisfaction.

"I just knew you two were meant for each other the very first day when we met the capitán on the plaza," declared Juanita.

"Oh," exclaimed Margarita. "Was that why you wanted me to wake up Francisco when he fell asleep in church?"

All the girls burst out laughing, nodding, while the two mothers shook their heads at their daughters' stories, especially about Margarita avoiding Salvador Muñoz. Everyone was awed by the ring the capitán had given Margarita. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" María asked Ramona.

The other woman shook her head. "I'm very impressed," she commented. She heard the arrival of her husband and excused herself a moment.

César Rodríguez arrived with a friend, the other lawyer of the town, a man called Franco. He had consulted with the lawyer that morning over the situation with Margarita Pérez and wanted the man to meet the young woman he had taken under his protection. He did not know of the developments over the last several hours until Ramona informed him in the front hall. He was greatly relieved but still distressed over the situation for María Pérez. "I believe that our next order of business is to have a discussion with her mother," César told his wife.

She nodded. "I would like to extend our hospitality to María as well," she told him. "I talked to Doctor Aguilera and he told me that María has been badly beaten. She wears a veil to cover her bruises." The woman paused and said in indignation, "I am appalled at this situation. María should stay here until she has recovered. She must be in great pain."

Andreas Franco nodded. "If Señora Pérez is willing, it would be good idea, although her husband will be furious that she has left his home. She is the one who will have to decide. Do not be surprised if she fears to do even this."

"I will speak to her in private after a while," Ramona responded. "I will tell her that we wish for her to stay with us a few days or more. I can send a servant to tell her husband that she is our guest and is visiting her daughter - if she agrees."

"I think your idea is a good one," César added. "Now let us go congratulate Margarita. I am very happy for her and for Don Francisco."

As they headed toward the sala, Ramona remembered something she wanted to tell her husband. "César, I want you to look at the ring that Don Francisco gave Margarita today. It is very unusual."

"Of course," he answered casually. Several minutes later he was examining the ring with a jeweler's magnifying glass as Margarita' held out her hand for him to look at it more closely. He found it hard to conceal his astonishment. He called the lawyer over to look at the ring. The lawyer also examined it, but looked disturbed. Whatever he thought, he kept his feelings to himself, merely commenting on its beauty and original design.

The lawyer stayed for supper, consulted with María Pérez, had a nightcap, and was seen to the door by César Rodríguez. At the very last minute, Andrés Franco beckoned César out the front door and asked him to close it behind him.

"What is the matter, Andrés?" asked the maestro. "You seemed quite preoccupied this evening and all through supper."

"My apologies, César," responded the lawyer. "I cannot help but be preoccupied. You see, I find myself in a difficult position of telling you something regarding Señorita Margarita and her ring from Capitán de las Fuentes."

"Is there something wrong with the ring?" asked César. "It is a magnificent object of beauty and its design is quite unique. I am almost envious of the girl. Not too many young women could ever dream to receive an object of such beauty - or value. It must be an heirloom."

"If it is what I think it is," began the lawyer, "then it is either stolen or it is a copy of an original."

"Stolen?" exclaimed the musician in astonishment. "Whatever can you mean? Capitán de las Fuentes is one of the most honorable men that I know. I could not imagine such a thing. Are you positive of what you are saying, Andrés?"

The lawyer sighed. "I knew this was going to be difficult, " he began. "I know for a fact that this particular ring is one in a million. There is only one ring like that that was ever designed - and it was made in Spain for one of the most illustrious families in the history of Spain - that of the De las Fuentes y Alarcón."

The maestro was impressed. "How do you know this?" he asked.

"I knew the jeweler who created it," he replied. "It's design was suggested and given to him as a project by one of the princes of the family, General Alfonso de las Fuentes y Alarcón. It was made for his fiancée, the Countess Isabel."

"Perhaps our comandante is his son," suggested César. "How else could it come into his possession?"

Andrés Franco shook his head. "This occurred within the last ten years or so, just before I left Spain. I heard some rumors that the general had been exiled to the provinces after falling into disfavor with His Majesty. There is no son and there is no one with a rank as humble as that of captitán in their family."

César was quiet, his mind racing. "Are you certain?" he asked. "Perhaps our comandante is a nephew or cousin? Was there ever a case of the ring being stolen?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied the lawyer. "It's just that I doubt that the general would ever part with such a ring, let alone his family. The value of the ring is probably thousands of pesos, possibly even greater."

"This is very troubling news indeed," mused the musician. "I hope that you are not implying that our captitán is a fraud. He is a genuinely cultured man."

"Let me look into this further," Franco told him, wrapping a scarf around his neck and shivering in the chilly night air. "Do not say anything to anyone regarding this as of yet. It is quite possible that Capitán de las Fuentes is a genuinely talented and knowledgeable man, just as you say. But, on the other hand, if he is an imposter, then we would not want Margarita to be misled."

César smiled at that. "Even if our comandante is an imposter, I believe that nothing would stop Margarita from marrying him. Anyone would be better than the Muñoz boy. But please, Andrés, let me know as soon as possible what you can find out. I would rather know the truth, no matter how painful."

The lawyer bowed and bid him a good night. César closed the door thoughtfully and shook his head sadly. He would not spoil anyone's happiness, especially Margarita's or her mother's, on this day.

***********************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 23](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante23.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	23. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Twenty-three

The fire light from dozens of torches reflected off the waters of the small lake near the De la Vega rancho. Almost fifty men volunteered to ride from town out to the lake with the soldiers. Merchants, stable hands, house servants and lawyers found themselves working side by side probing the dark grounds. Between the fork in the road and the forest, between the lake and the Old Shack, they combed the rocks, marsh, meadows, and lake on horseback or in in groups of twos and threes.

The vaqueros from the De la Vega, Torres, Villa and Calderón ranchos as well as the rancheros themselves, Don Alejandro, Don Nacho, Don Leon, and Don Juan joined the men at the lake. Don Alejandro had brought his own carriage to transport the comandante into town if he was discovered to be in distress.

Angel Ledesma found himself probing the reeds and following them towards a thicket of trees. There was a man at his side. When Angel looked up, he was surprised to see the face of the man who joined him. "Tomás!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing out here? Did you escape from jail?"

The tall man at his side holding his own torch straightened up. "No, Angel," he answered. "When the soldiers asked for volunteers to find De las Fuentes, I insisted on coming."

Ledesma was surprised. "That is good of you, Tomás," he told the vaquero. "I thought that you didn't care about anybody except yourself." He looked around and saw that both of them were fairly far away from the other searchers. "Where do you think he might be?"

"He could not have gone too far," answered the lean man. He paused and approached the grove of trees. "Listen, Angel," he said. "You just take my torch when you head back."

"Why?" asked Ledesma. He paused. "You're not thinking of running away?"

"How else am I going to get out of jail?" Robello answered. "It's my only opportunity."

"You can't do that!" Angel insisted. "Sergeant García trusted you to help us find the comandante."

"Listen, stupid," Tomás said in an irritated tone, "I'm never going to be able to pay off the comandante. Fifty pesos! It's a fortune. I'll be in jail for years!"

"Listen, Tomás," the other pointed out. "You are already paying off your debt with all the work you are doing in the cuartel. You won't be in jail for years. Tomás, I will help you."

"Forget it," Robello answered him. "La Señor Ledesma has already made it clear that she will not give you a peso to help me out. And I have no intention of being in jail when Monastario comes back. He'll turn me into a slave, probably send me to a mine. I'd never come back alive." He handed his torch to Ledesma who looked upset at his words. "Sorry, Angel, but I have to do what is good for me. Somebody else will find the comandante. He's not a bad sort, it is true, but I have to think about my future, not his." He turned and began walking towards the groves.

Ledesma debated what to do next _. You don't have to insult me, Tomás, when I offer to help you_. The short vaquero watched the other man disappear into the darkness. When they catch him again, he thought, he will think that his current punishment was heaven. And it would be Capitán Monastario who would try him, not Capitán de las Fuentes. He began to head back toward the flickering lights along the road and around the lake.

********************************

"Where could he have gone to?" Alejandro de la Vega asked in an agitated tone of voice. "We have searched the lake, the meadows, the road, the rocks, and the surrounding trails. He is not to be found. Surely he must be somewhere!"

"It is almost two in the morning," commented Don Leon Santos, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "We have covered much ground."

The group of men surrounding him murmured in assent, shaking their heads and talking in hushed tones to each other. Their torches cast strange moving shadows on the ground. Far above them, thousands of stars twinkled in the cool night air. A brisk breeze began to blow across the lake. It whipped the reeds of the surrounding marsh and caused large ripples across the lake. The gentle lapping of waves against the pebbled shore could now distinctly be heard. From far away came the hoot of night owls seeking their prey. It was an indication to many of the men that the search had not gone well.

"We still have not reached the woods, Father," Diego said coming up behind his father and pointing to the distant trees. "Perhaps the comandante took shelter there."

"It would make more sense for him to come back to the road," his father countered. "Here he would have been found."

"But what if the bear had come back for him?" asked the elderly Martín Domínguez, servant of the Pérez family. He had driven out from the Pérez household after his master, Don Sebastian, had reluctantly given him permission to join the search.

"That's not likely," answered Benito Ávila. "Bears generally avoid people, and even if he had dragged the comandante off, it would have not been far. We would have found the capitán by now."

"If what Sergeant García said is correct," Don Nacho Torres spoke up. "Capitán de las Fuentes could not have walked very far, not on that leg. He would have headed out on the road, back to town if he could walk."

"But a wounded man like that could fall prey to wolves, wild boars, or even a pack of coyotes," Martín insisted, "even if he did take the road back to town."

That comment set off even more conversation. Diego de la Vega grew impatient with what he viewed as the delay in hunting further from the lake. "I suggest that we start searching the woods," he insisted. "That way no such fate will befall Don Francisco."

He was interrupted by the intrusion of Sergeant García into their midst. "Attention, attention!" the big man announced. Everyone turned their eyes on the corpulent figure of the soldier. "Has anyone seen the prisoner, Tomás Robello?"

There was silence. Someone said, "He was with our group for a while, then he went off into the reeds by himself."

"Did you free Señor Robello to help with the search, Sergeant?" asked Diego.

"But, of course, Don Diego," answered García. "You told me to gather all the men who would be willing to help us find the comandante. The prisoner told me that he wanted to help us find the capitán."

"So, now we have two men missing," moaned Don Leon. "Weren't there any soldiers guarding the prisoner?"

"We were all trying to find the comandante," García began defensively as voices began to speak up from all sides.

"Señores, gentlemen," Diego held up his hand. "This is all very well, but even as we talk, Capitán de las Fuentes needs our help and we are wasting time. I suggest that we continue our search."

"With all due respect, Don Diego, it would be far better to do it when it is light" González, the blacksmith, said in a tired voice. "The dawn is only a few hours away and it would give us some time to rest. Besides, our torches burn low and I am losing my voice from shouting so much." He paused. "I want us to find the comandante, too, Don Diego, but we have not found anything to show us that he is still in the area."

"A few hours could mean the difference…" the son of Alejandro argued. He felt his father squeeze his arm.

"Diego, González is right. Many of us are exhausted. We have combed the area over and over. If we have missed him at night, the chances are much better that we will find him by daylight." He turned to the crowd. "If some of you would like to rest here, then we can make a temporary camp. For those of you who may need to return to your families, then go and rest. Please return here as soon as possible when you can."

"I think that is a good idea, Don Alejandro," Sergeant García spoke up. "My men are very tired and need to rest here. As a matter of fact, I am so tired and hungry that I probably would not find the capitán even if I walked on top of him!" He looked down at his feet. "And I might have done that because he is so little."

When Diego began to argue again, his father took him aside. "Listen, my son. I know how you feel about His Excellency. I feel no different than you, but look at the ground we have covered. He will be no worse off in a few hours than he is now and I want you to ride back to the hacienda and get the rest of the vaqueros to come here. That will give us even more men. When they arrive, we will begin to search the woods as you suggest. I want you to do this right away, Diego."

The young don nodded. He mounted his palomino and left. He saw a few men returning to the pueblo while others went to the edge of the lake, kneeling to splash their faces with the cool waters. A few soldiers and townsmen stood by campfires and discussed the situation quietly. He would ride like the wind to get the vaqueros and to bring some provisions for the men still at the lake. The half-moon shone up in the sky far above, soon to be swallowed up by the coming daybreak.

*******************

Conchita Cortez wiped her damp cloth over the bar for the third time and sighed. The bar was empty of its usual customers and she was bored. She leaned an elbow on the polished surface which had seen many spills and thought about how Señor Pacheco had hurriedly told her about the disappearance of the comandante and how he was joining in the search party. Señor Pacheco was, for once, without his great white apron around his waist. Instead, he had grabbed his hat and rushed out the door. That was the night before and he had not returned yet. The cook had put on the fire and told her to be prepared for any of the men showing up, but it was well into the morning and only a few travelers had made their appearance to eat their meals and depart.

Her eyes traveled over the silent room with its many wooden tables and chairs, to the far stone fireplace and then to the stairs that led to the guests' quarters. She began to imagine the inn full of the vaqueros, rancheros, the guitar players, the soldiers and yes, even to the small officer who was the object of the greatest manhunt the pueblo had ever known. Suddenly Conchita felt sad and hoped that he would be found; that soon the _posada_ would fill up with the smiling faces of the men who would tell all sorts of stories about how they found the comandante, and to reassure her that all would be well.

Conchita was startled out of her daydream when the door to the inn banged shut. She looked up to see two figures looking around at the empty room. Both men looked over and saw her as she pretended to wipe the top of the bar. She recognized the two at once.

"The pueblo is practically deserted," complained one of the men, sitting down at a table. "There are no customers in the general store and almost all of the men at the office did not show up for work. It's outrageous and ridiculous."

The stocky younger man accompanying him nodded. "It's just as well that we are rid of him at last," he commented. "He's been nothing but trouble since he arrived."

The older man held up a hand, cautioning him. "It's not wise to discuss this here," he said. He looked over at the barmaid who seemed to be paying no attention to them and raised his voice. "Bar maid, are we to be ignored? Or are you too busy with all the other customers?"

Conchita hurried over. "Good morning, Señor Pérez. What would you like to order?"

"The same as yesterday," he said in a grouchy voice. The young man nodded as she turned toward him and he ordered the same thing. As Conchita hurried toward the kitchen, Sebastian Pérez turned back to his companion. "I've been deserted," he complained, "first by my wife and now by Martín. That old man left last night on the search party and still is not back yet to perform his duties that I am paying for. That is what I get for being generous and giving him permission to go - ingratitude pure and simple." Pérez took out a gold watch and looked at it. "If he's not back by noon, he's lost a day's wages."

"The nerve of these menials who don't know their place," Salvador Muñoz agreed. "Sergeant García had the audacity to come to our home last night and argue that our family participate in this nocturnal posse. My father jumped up at once to go - just like a slave given an order, but I was more restrained. I told him that the soldiers would either find him or bring back a corpse. Would you believe Father was angry at me for not joining in this farce? I told him to send the servants. The Muñoz family should be at no one's beck and call!"

"Actually this entire affair could end up in our favor again if things turn out the way I hope," Pérez lowered his voice considerably. "I expect Margarita to come back home and admit she was wrong in another day or two. I'll play the generous parent and take her back into the fold. The only stipulation will be that she finally agrees to marry you. That should end our problems once and for all. With De las Fuentes out of the way, there will be no more excuses. Then we can begin to work on Felix regarding a merger of our two family businesses."

Salvador rubbed his hands together in satisfaction and nodded at the words of the other man. He watched Conchita carry a large tray as she walked through the swinging door and approach their table. "…Assuring your future prosperity as well as my own," he added.

Both men raised their steaming cups of coffee in a toast to their coming partnership.

*******************************

Sebastian Pérez and Salvador Muñoz were not the only two residents of Los Angeles who wondered where everyone was. A muscular ranchero, one Rafael Pascual, rode into town expecting to see the pueblo teaming with the usual Indians, merchants, soldiers and peons, only to find very few men out on the street. At the most he saw some women at the general store and a few elderly parishioners outside the church. Los Angeles seemed almost deserted.

Rafael headed to the most obvious place to look for townspeople and that was at the tavern. He halted in amazement after opening the door. He saw no one in the inn except for a single barmaid who was wiping off a table and clearing it of a few plates and mugs. It was already mid-afternoon and, normally, the tavern began to fill with those seeking a mug of wine or enjoying a siesta after a leisurely meal. He was distracted by the sound of horses, carts, and wagons coming from the far side of the cuartel. He closed the door and headed back out to see what the commotion was.

In groups of five or six, men began to arrive on horseback. Others rode on carts pulled by mules. Still others walked in wearily. Pascual wondered what was going on. He put his hands on his hips, a typical pose, and waited to see who would stop and ask him about his prolonged absence, but all the faces he knew seemed to pass him by as if unaware of his presence.

Suddenly a voice called out to him, "Rafael, are you back so soon?"

Pascual turned to face the young man whose voice he recognized and grinned hugely. "Good afternoon, Don Diego," he answered, pleased to be noticed. "I just arrived." He paused. "But, tell me this, what is happening? The town looks deserted. Where has everyone gone?"

The young don had just rode up on his palomino and several rancheros arrived behind him. "Leon, Nacho, Juan," Rafael greeted them. The men dismounted and shook hands. Rafael repeated his question, "What has happened while I have been away? I wasn't sure that I was in the pueblo of Los Angeles when I arrived earlier. It seemed deserted."

"There is much to tell," Diego began.

"Let's do it at the tavern, then," Pascual suggested and all five of them headed across the plaza.

After the men had seated themselves at a table, they began to tell Ramon what had happened while he had been away. As they spoke, more men arrived at the tavern and it was soon full of talking vaqueros, peons and townspeople.

"A tragedy, a real tragedy," began Don Nacho. "Our comandante has disappeared and we have spent almost a day and night searching for him - and to no avail. Hundreds volunteered to help and we have returned empty-handed." He looked very sad.

Rafael grinned crookedly. "I thought all of us would be happy to see the back of Monastario," he remarked, "especially you, Nacho. What makes his disappearance a tragedy?"

"Capitán Monastario was temporarily replaced, Rafael, " Diego explained. "The new comandante, a good and just man, disappeared last night out at the lake near our rancho. He was searching for a fugitive and not even the soldiers or most of the town have been able to find him."

"He was also wounded in the leg," Don Juan added, "which adds gravity to the situation. If his wound is not treated soon, there is a chance that he may die."

Rafael rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin and thought a moment. "What did this comandante look like?" he asked. "Describe his appearance to me."

The four other men looked at each other, then Don Nacho said to young De la Vega, "You explain, Diego, since you have been the most involved with our comandante."

Diego turned to the muscular man. "Don Francisco, our comandante, is a very small man, bearded with pock marks. He might bear a small resemblance to Velasquez's portrait of the Duke of Olivares…"

"But his eyes are kind…" Nacho added

"Well, he looks more like someone in a Rubens or Rembrandt portrait," Don Leon asserted. "Some say he even looks French or Dutch."

"Gentlemen, just a minute," the self-made Rafael interrupted. "I don't know about all these painters, like you learned men, but I did see something odd, now that I think about it, early this morning when I was headed toward Los Angeles." He paused. "It was far beyond your lands, Diego."

"What did you see?" asked Don Juan Villa.

"I was riding southwest when I came upon a group of Indians with a cart. There were so many of them, about a dozen, that I became suspicious, thinking they were neophytes running away from the mission," Pascual explained. "I stopped them and asked them what they were doing and where they were going. They did not answer me only to say that they had a sick man in the cart. Then I saw that there was a man in the cart. There were two Indian women in the cart with him. I did not pay much attention to him because he was dressed like a peon. He was wrapped in a blanket and some furs. I pulled back the blanket to check their story and noticed that he had a saber cut on his leg that looked red. I told them that if he did not get treatment soon, they would have to take off his leg. Because he looked like a peon, I did not bother making any further inquiries, but now that you mention it, his face seems to have been pockmarked and he looked rather old-fashioned - his beard, hair and moustache."

The tavern fell silent as Don Leon leaped to his feet and shouted excitedly, "That's it, then! The Indians have kidnapped our comandante!"

***************************

Joaquín Enríquez fled further up river at the approach of the soldiers on horseback . He had dragged the comandante out of the marshes earlier and carried him into the drier grasses beyond the grove of trees. The bear had retreated under his aggressive hail of rocks and stones and lumbered off across the meadow and disappeared.

The fugitive examined the capitán and ascertained that he had been unharmed by the bear. He tried to revive the officer, thinking him half-drowned, only to feel the heat of a fever on his forehead. "He's ill," thought Enríquez briefly. "Damn." He looked around. So far, there were no troopers in sight. The man chewed his lower lip at his moral dilemma: if he carried De las Fuentes back to the soldiers, he might be shot on sight or accused of harming the comandante. It would be back to jail or six feet under at worse. On the other hand, if he left the comandante in the dry field, then the officer might not be found at all and that might end with his death. Then he would be accused of killing the officer. Well, it would not be the first time he had the officer at his mercy. And finally, there was his final appearance in Los Angeles, a ritual and action that had to be carried out before he found peace for himself - or to succumb to madness….Enríquez broke off these black thoughts and decided the best thing would be to carry the small man back to the marsh where he could be found. Then he would return to one of his hiding places.

He leaned over and took the small man by the arms in order to carry him over his shoulder. As he rose with his burden, he hesitated anew. Too late, he saw six soldiers with Sergeant García at their head round the bend of the rocks in the distance. He watched as they followed the sandy shore into the shallow lake and nearby marsh. It was too late for him now. The troopers began to search the lake, meadow and rocks. It was getting too dangerous for him to stay in the area any longer. Enríquez made a decision. He lowered the officer back to the ground and lay him on his back. He then unfastened the officer's scabbard and sword from his belt and thrust it into the earth, so that it stood upright. Rays from the sun might gleam off of the shiny hilt and attract any searchers to the place where the comandante lay. He could do no more. Joaquín Enríquez disappeared into the high grasses of the surrounding terrain.

*******************

Watching all these events unfold from the safety of distant bushes and trees were two pairs of eyes. Two men in white with long black hair and copper-colored skin had been alerted by the sound of distant gunfire. Drawn toward the lake by curiosity, they had watched a man leap into the river and swim across it. Minutes later, they saw the same man take refuge from a bear by climbing the rocks. He looked like a Spanish vaquero. Soon afterwards, they saw a Spanish officer charge down the road on his horse, loose his seat and plunge into the waters of the river after unexpectedly encountering the bear. They witnessed the man on the rocks showering rocks upon the bear, trying to drive it off. And, finally, they saw the man drag the unconscious officer out of the marsh. He then hoisted the officer over his shoulder and make his way through the woods towards their hiding place. As soldiers came galloping down the road and began to search the area, the man left the officer and fled into the surrounding grasslands, rocks and woods, not even seeing the two hidden watchers. The officer moved a little and turned over on his side, then on his stomach, his face hidden from the sun.

The soldiers began hunting among the rocks and in the nearby meadows. They did not even venture near the woods or beyond it. The two strangers would remain undiscovered. One of the watchers pointed at the crumpled figure in blue and white who remained prone just a few yards away and said to the other, "Leave him. Let the Spaniard die. It will just be one less white man to oppress us."

His companion hesitated. "I wish to see the face of this white man." He made his way cautiously through the grasses until he came within a few feet of the Spanish officer. He turned to beckon his friend to join him. Then he knelt down and turned the inert figure over. A look of recognition came over his copper-colored features. He looked up. "We need to help this white man," he said firmly.

"Why?" asked the other curiously.

"Because this is the one who gave me justice."

***********************************

The inn was soon in an uproar caused by the words of Don Leon. One man suggested that the Indians were taking advantage of the situation and were holding the comandante hostage. "You can never trust a savage," shouted a second. Don Diego recognized the speaker as Miguel Cisneros, a man who had instigated the arrest of Indians. Diego looked over at Don Nacho in consternation and knew he had to act before the situation got out of hand. Diego leapt onto a tabletop in order to draw attention to himself, and to calm the angry men, if he could.

"Gentlemen!" he said loudly, holding up a hand, "Gentlemen! Your attention, please."

The room grew quieter. Voices died down and became whispers as they looked up at the tall figure of the son of Don Alejandro de la Vega, one of the most respected subjects of the king in Los Angeles.

"Gentlemen!" the young man spoke in an authoritative voice, "like all of you, I am concerned about the whereabouts and well-being of our comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes. Like you, I spent the night searching for him out at the lake, and like you, I am feeling somewhat discouraged by our lack of fortune in finding him. But we must not let our emotions get the better of our good judgement. We must not leap to conclusions. It is entirely possible that another scenario presents itself. If, some Indians had discovered Don Francisco before we did, is it not possible that they, respecting the justice that two of them received at the hearings just a few days ago, would not try to aid him, rather than apprehend him? Because we do not know the facts, it is not a good idea to speculate the worst possible scenario. Capitán de las Fuentes is not a man who presumes a man is guilty until proven guilty - to the contrary! He believes a man to be innocent before proven guilty. We must conduct ourselves in a way that would make our comandante proud of us. Let us not leap to persecute any Indian that comes our way, but to make inquiries , to ask the Indians to help us find a man who is a benefactor for all of us."

Don Nacho nodded at the wisdom of his young friend's words. He stood up. "I agree with Don Diego. Let us ride forth in peace in search of our capitán, not in hatred or distrust."

There were murmurings as some men nodded. But Miguel Cisneros stepped forward. "The time for reasoning has passed," he said in a voice rising with emotion. "Our comandante's life is in danger, all of us know this! Why would the Indians not tell Don Ramon who the man in the cart was? Why would they not bring Don Francisco here to the pueblo to be treated by Doctor Aguilera? Why did they strip him of his sacred uniform and hide him in the guise of a peon? Do you call that respect? Do you call that love for the man who gave them justice!?" He turned back toward the men who crowded the tavern and whose eyes he held with his own. "Behind the resentful look of every Indian, is a man itching for revenge against Whites! Behind every act of insubordination, is an Indian plotting revolt! And behind every act of mercy that an Indian receives from a White man is a rebel waiting to take advantage of a situation!"

"That is not true!" shouted Don Leon, now horrified by the reaction his claim had aroused. He had not thought about what he said before he opened his mouth and now he bitterly regretted it. "My own servants, Indians all, are loyal men."

Another man began to argue that the Indians were probably in league with the bandit-fugitive Enríquez.

"Enough of this!" shouted Cisneros in return. "Let us mount our horses and ride to the Indian villages and demand that they turn our comandante over to us! Let us burn them out if they refuse. Interrogate every Indian servant and leave no stone untouched in our quest to return our comandante to our pueblo unharmed!" He led a number of men out the door as Diego tried to make one last appeal to reason.

"Señores, do not do this! Capitán de las Fuentes would not wish us to act like this!"

The other men in the inn approached Don Diego as the young man stepped down from the table. They crowded around him looking for an answer. The young ranchero shook his head in dismay. "Gentlemen, just as those men ride forth, so must we. We cannot allow injustice to happen to the very people Don Francisco has given justice to. Warn our Indian friends and tell them that many of us will do what we can to defend them. And, if by accident, you discover the whereabouts of Joaquín Enríquez, remember, too, that our comandante wishes to give him justice as well. He gave all the soldiers orders to take this man alive. We can do no less."

As they left the inn, Don Nacho turned to the young caballero. "Diego, my friend, I fear that a great calamity has hit us. How ironic that a man like Capitán de las Fuentes, who wants nothing more than justice in the world, may find himself at the mercy of those who are the very embodiment of injustice. I pray we can put a halt to this madness."

Diego nodded and halted, waiting until Don Nacho was out of hearing range. He turned to Bernardo. "Never before has the pueblo been in such need of a man like Capitán de las Fuentes," he told the mozo. "And never before has Capitán de las Fuentes needed the assistance of a man called "El Zorro."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 24](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante24.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	24. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-four**

It was early evening when Margarita Pérez and her friends sat in Ismaida's room, chatting. Margarita was very worried because Francisco had not come to the Rodríguez' home as he had promised and it was getting late. He never broke a promise, she thought.

She clasped her right hand over her left which she held at her heart. The other two girls began to notice her distraction. Ismaida and Juanita glanced at each other. "Don't worry, Margarita," they assured her. "Don Francisco will show up soon. He is probably at the doctor's like he promised."

"But, what if he's very ill?" she persisted. "I just wish someone would come and let me know."

"Let me serve some more tea," Ismaida offered, wanting to change the subject to calm her friend. She lifted the teapot and began to serve the tea. Suddenly, she looked up as she heard a strange sound.

All three young women turned in apprehension as they heard a tapping on the outside of Ismaida's bedroom window.

"Who is out there?" Ismaida called in alarm. Whoever it was would have had to climb up the tree, just like Margarita had done. All three young women were astonished as a dark figure in black with a mask covering half of his face stepped in to the room from up over the windowsill.

"Señor Zorro!" gasped all the young women in unison. Ismaida stood up in her amazement. She didn't know whether to be thrilled or shocked. Her mouth opened in her surprise.

"Your pardon, Señoritas," apologized the man in black. "I hope I did not frighten you by my unorthodox appearance."

"Oh, you are welcome anytime, Señor Zorro," gushed Ismaida. "We are not frightened!"

"Thank you," he grinned. "And good evening, again, Señorita Villa," he bowed to the taller girl who beamed at his acknowledgement.

"Why are you here, Señor Zorro?" Ismaida asked. "What can we do for you?"

"I am here to see Señorita Pérez," the man in black told them. He looked over at the young woman who had risen out of her chair and he smiled. "With your permission, of course."

Margarita looked up at the dashing figure in the long cape and nodded. "Can you tell me anything about Don Francisco, Señor Zorro?" she asked in a trembling voice as if almost anticipating the reason for his presence. "Is he safe? Is he well? I have not seen him at all and he said he would come by this evening." She became distraught and leaned a hand on the arm of the chair.

"Señorita Pérez, in order to help Don Francisco, I need to find out some information from you," he explained.

"Why does he need your help?" she asked. "Is he in danger?"

"Señorita, the Capitán has not come back from his search for the fugitive," he told her.

Margarita grew pale and put a hand to her throat. She sat down slowly. The other girls tensed at the news.

El Zorro could see the effect of his words on the young woman. He knelt on one knee at her side and patted her hand gently with his gloved one. "Señorita, there are a great many men from the pueblo out looking for Don Francisco as I speak," he began, "many men who love and respect him. But in order to get a better idea of where he might have gone, please answer me this if you can - first of all, I must find out when Don Francisco began to be troubled by his bad leg," He paused. "And secondly, did Don Francisco ever mention anything about why he felt he must capture this Señor Enríquez himself?"

It was only a few minutes later that the knight in black kissed the hand of the young woman and congratulated her on her engagement to the comandante. Margarita rose and followed the dashing figure to the window. "Please, Señor Zorro," she begged him, "don't let anything bad happen to my Francisco."

"I swear to you, Señorita, that I will do my best to find him," promised the man in black. "I will not rest until I do so." Then, he was gone as quickly as he appeared.

The room was quiet a moment before Ismaida broke the silence. "Just imagine! El Zorro in _our_ house!" She gave Juanita a look of unmistakable triumph.

"This makes us even," Juanita sighed.

******************************

The warm day had dissolved into a cool evening. Far below the far mountain reaches, a full moon began its ascent towards the heavens. As the sky darkened, the first twinkling stars made their appearance, hazy and dim to the eye at first until they became sharply distinct twinkling spots of light in the breezy night air.

And far below on the Earth, disparate events began to coalesce and shape life under the dark sky as men road forth in lands of the far-flung Spanish Empire, in a land called California.

A black horse and rider sped forth from among the box canyons and numerous valleys outside the pueblo of Los Angeles. As he passed by a lake and meadow in the vicinity, the dark figure in black took advantage of the full moon to retrace his steps beyond the lake and into a meadow beyond the surrounding woods. He wanted to turn his attention one last time to the area before resuming an adventure that would turn into a race with time.

El Zorro made his way carefully past the woods and searched the ground for a man who would be dressed in white and blue - the wounded comandante. While the woods shaded him from behind, the moon illuminated the grounds ahead as his eyes moved swiftly over the grassy meadow. Suddenly, the masked man saw movement in the high grasses. He paused and watched a man appear, a man hatless and ill-clad, who inspected the lands below his feet. El Zorro recognized the figure at once. He slid off Toronado as silently as an Indian warrior, drew his sword and approached the figure undetected.

A man of medium height was looking through the grasses so intently, that he did not notice the approach of the man in black. He looked up, startled, as a calm voice spoke from the darkness ahead.

"We meet again, Señor Enríquez," said El Zorro.

Joaquín Enríquez straightened up and faced the mask man. "It would seem so," he replied. He could see the moonlight glistening off the other's drawn sword. The fugitive stood his ground and made no attempt to flee.

"Allow me to ask you, Señor, what you are doing here?" asked the man in black.

The vaquero was serious in his reply. "I'm looking for the comandante who is wounded and suffering from a fever," he answered. "Why else would I be here?"

"I do not know, Señor Enríquez," answered El Zorro. "You must know that many others have been looking for him as well. How do you know he is wounded and ill?"

"I know what you are thinking," Enríquez replied, "but you are mistaken. Capitán de las Fuentes fell into the lake after encountering a bear. I was there - being the object of his manhunt. But it was I who drove off the bear and carried him from the marsh. I left him in this field. When the soldiers came, I fled far from here in order not to be found. I came back to find him, to take him to some place where he could be discovered, but saw many others from the town and the soldiers. I thought they would find him, but they did not venture much further than the trees. When they left, I came out of hiding and have tried to find him where I left him. He is nowhere here that I can see."

"And what do you think happened to him? Where could he have gone without someone's help?" El Zorro continued. "Men do not disappear by themselves."

"I don't know," answered Joaquín. "However, I left a marker next to the comandante when I had to leave. It is there." He pointed to something shining a short distance away. He walked toward the glistening object. "This is it."

El Zorro followed him and saw what the fugitive was pointing to. He went up to it and pulled a saber out of the ground. "This belongs to Capitán de las Fuentes," he affirmed. He turned to the fugitive. "I believe you, Señor Enríquez." He replaced the saber in the upright scabbard.

"I did find some deep footprints but they disappeared over there," Enríquez explained, "but they could not have been made by the comandante."

El Zorro thought a moment. "But they could have been made by someone carrying the comandante. Deep prints are made when the weight is heavy," he pointed out. "If anyone, say some Indians, found the comandante, they might have carried him away."

"That is true," the vaquero agreed. "There are some small villages of pagans on the other side of the hills to the east. There is the danger that they would not know about the comandante's goodwill toward their people."

"If a man like Capitán de las Fuentes did justice, I am sure the Indians knew about it the day it happened," the man in black told the vaquero. "But there is something more serious to consider. Some townsmen led by Miguel Cisneros are accusing the Indians of kidnapping the comandante. Cisneros is advocating violence and intimidation against all Indians in order to discover the whereabouts of the capitán."

The vaquero sucked in his breath. "Those fools!" he said in anger. "They don't know what they may unleash. This could put the comandante's life in danger and ruin everything!"

"I agree," the man in black said. "I tell you this - I will make an agreement with you, Señor Enríque _z_. The comandante is in serious need of everyone's effort to find him before it is too late. If you can help us find him, I will see to it that you come to no harm."

"Men have promised me that before, Señor Zorro," Enríquez declared, but he knew when to concede the point. "However, if you will also pledge not to turn me in, I will do everything in my power to help find the comandante. What do you say?"

"You have an agreement," El Zorro responded. He whistled and Tornado came quickly to his side. As he mounted, the man in black turned back one more time at the sound of the fugitive's voice.

"You know, Señor Zorro, with the comandante in danger and now the Indians as well, you have your work cut out for you." The fugitive grinned cheerfully. "Lucky that you have me to help you!"

Despite the seriousness of it all, El Zorro gave a wide grin of his own. "That is true, Señor Enríquez. What a serious responsibility you yourself have undertaken! However, I am confident you will reach my highest expectations and redeem yourself in the eyes of all of those of Los Angeles!"

With that, El Zorro, turned Toronado towards the eastern hills and departed. He left Joaquín Enríquez standing in the field contemplating the challenge that faced him and his own determination to prove himself worthy to a fellow outlaw, a man who had shown him trust and confidence in keeping his word.

***************************************

The landscape that night was illuminated by a full moon and it made the wide dirt road back into town much easier to travel. Dr. Arturo Aguilera rode easily though somewhat wearily. He had spent the last day and a half delivering a baby with the help of midwives and family members. It was a day full of anxiety and joy. He was pleased that all had gone well. As a matter of fact, Dr. Aguilera often reflected on the remarkable fertility rate of Spanish Californians and the lack of deaths from complications of births compared to those of Spain.

The gray-haired physician with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard watched as a pale yellow moon rose gradually above the hill and mountains and began to climb the night sky. He could see dark marks on the moon. Somewhere he read that they were mountains and he marvelled time and again at the seemingly closeness of this luminous ball. Sometimes the orb seemed to sit on a peak of a hill for endless moments before its ascent.

The good doctor was startled out of his thoughts by a man's voice quite near. "Good evening, Doctor Aguilera," a cultivated voice called out.

The doctor halted in the road. There, sitting on a horse under a tree was a dark figure. "Who is there?" he asked in alarm, not expecting to encounter anyone out on the road without first hearing or seeing them first.

The figure urged his horse forward and the traveler saw at once a man in a black cape and mask. "Señor Zorro!" the doctor exclaimed as the masked man neared. "What can I do for you, Señor?" he asked. He knew that if El Zorro approached him, it would be for a good reason.

"Nothing for me, Doctor. But there is a man who desperately needs your help."

"Who is that?" the physician inquired.

"Our comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes, has a bad leg wound he has been treating. Just today it got worse. I fear that should he not receive treatment right away, it might be too late," explained the man in black.

"Let us go at once," agreed the doctor. "I saw the capitán limping only yesterday and was going to inquire of him tomorrow if he needed some assistance." He halted his horse. "But, Señor Zorro, town is in that direction." He pointed ahead of him.

"We are not headed into down," El Zorro explained. "The capitán has taken ill and some Indians were seen with him in their company. I have no doubt that they wish to help him."

The doctor groaned to himself as he turned in the opposite direction. _What could Indians do to help a white man?_ he thought. And why would the comandante seek assistance from Indians instead of waiting for his return to the pueblo? These and other questions were soon answered by the masked man who road at his side.

****************************

Don Alejandro de la Vega was angry. He and his vaqueros had just driven off a gang of men who had shown up at the very door of his hacienda demanding to interrogate his Indian servants. The gang was led by a vaquero. Alejandro knew the vaquero well as an Indian-baiter. His name was Miguel Cisneros.

Cisneros and a few of the men had pushed their way past Diego's servant, Bernardo, who had answered the pounding at the outer gate. On the patio they accosted an older Indian woman, the mother of his head vaquero, Benito Ávila. Alejandro had watched the scene unfold quickly from the sala. Without hesitation, he grabbed two loaded pistols. When he reached the patio he aimed one up into the air and fired. He tossed it aside and strode determinedly toward the group with the second pistol. The group of men on the patio looked startled as they saw the white-bearded don bear down on them with a loaded pistol followed by a house-servant armed with a sword.

"Release Señora Ávila!" Alejandro demanded. He gestured to the clean-shaven vaquero who had grabbed the frightened woman.

"I am sorry, Don Alejandro," replied Cisneros. "Not until she tells us where her people have taken the comandante."

"You will release her now," the don retorted, pointing the gun at Cisneros. "Then we will talk."

Miguel Cisneros looked back at his men who crowded behind him. "I'm afraid you are outnumbered, Don Alejandro," he grinned in a defiant manner.

"That is true," the don affirmed. "But this pistol is loaded and I only need one target - you! So, do you release her now or do you receive a bullet for having burst into my home like a pack of thieves?"

The smug grin faded from Cisneros' face. "We are not here to rob you, Don Alejandro!" he exclaimed. He released the woman who took refuge behind the tall don. "The Indians have kidnapped our comandante and we are interrogating any of them that we find. We want to rescue him, not to wage war on the rancheros!"

"What is this nonsense about the Indians kidnapping the comandante?" demanded Alejandro. "Capitán de las Fuentes is known far and wide for his commitment to justice for everyone."

"With all due respect, Don Alejandro," spoke up another man from the crowd. "What Señor Cisneros says is true. The ranchero, Rafael Pascual, told us himself that he had seen a man in cart surrounded by Indians. The description of that man exactly fit that of our missing comandante." The other men surrounding him murmured in assent.

"Would it not make more sense to seek out where this cart is going?" the white-bearded man asked impatiently. "Instead, you waste your time going from hacienda to hacienda trying to interrogate and terrorize servants who have worked here all day and could not possibly know what is going on!"

Cisneros became less sure of himself at this retort. "Indians always know what is going on," he insisted. "Their grapevine works faster than a flowing river. Everyone knows that." He glared at the Indian woman behind the ranchero. "Where did your people take the comandante, woman?!" He and his men took a step forward again.

Suddenly the gate burst open behind the group of men. In the lead was Benito Ávila at the head of more than a dozen vaqueros. They were armed. Now it was Cisneros' group that was outnumbered.

"I think it is time for you to leave," Don Alejandro de la Vega said with great dignity. "And if you do not leave peacefully, the next Indian war will begin and end on my patio."

*************************

He ached all over and vaguely remembered being wet and freezing cold, then he remembered the bear. He kicked and tried to flee, but his feet felt as if they were going nowhere. Darkness descended and he must have slept awhile. It was sometime later when he opened his eyes blearily, looked up and saw what looked like the straw roof of a shack, but it was hazy and dark inside. And his leg hurt as if it had been slit open again. It felt like hands were kneading at it, trying to push the pain out. He closed his eyes for what seemed a short time, wanting to sleep, but someone was trying to wake him, forcing him to drink something that he could not remember the taste of. He tried to force his eyes open and saw a dark-skinned woman hovering over him. In her hands was a small container and she put it to his lips. "Drink," she told him in heavily accented Spanish. He understood her intent more than he did the words and swallowed as best he could. Another woman with black hair and copper-colored skin sat on his other side and helped raise his head. He lay back, exhausted.

Where am I? he thought and tried to speak. The woman cradling his head touched his lips with a finger and he realized words were unnecessary. He moved his hand to his side and discovered he had been undressed and was wrapped in a course blanket. His body felt too hot but his leg seemed to stick out into space.

Suddenly, he remembered. "My leg. Don’t let them take off my leg!" He was almost panic-stricken. The two women had to restrain him as he attempted to sit up, but he was too weak to do more than make the attempt.

And there was the dream. Twice he had heard the voices of different men say "take the leg off" and he searched for his sword to keep them at bay thinking that once they had his leg, they would try to take off his arms and, if they did, how was he to play his violin or the viola or flute? How could he sit with Isabel, no, with Margarita at the pianoforte and play duos with her, smiling into her eyes and telling her about Beethoven and the operas and how he wanted to take her to Madrid, Vienna and Venice to see the painters and….

He heard strange sing-song chants. He heard the whispers of other men in a strange tongue that seemed to wander in and out of his dreams. He could not understand what they were saying because they were not speaking in Spanish, Latin, French, German or Italian, but they did seem to be arguing. He closed his eyes again and wondered if he was at the Tower of Babel or perhaps in Purgatory where there would be many men speaking in many tongues. _Why can I not wake up from this bad dream?_

******************

The cart was overtaken at some distance far to the east of the pueblo of Los Angeles as a man dressed all in black hailed a small group of neophytes making their way silently along an almost invisible trail. It seemed a voice spoke to them in their own language, greeting them and they knew it was a stranger speaking their tongue.

A small thin man leading the group recognized the stranger at once as a few of his companions began to flee. "Wait," he commanded. "It is Zorro."

"Señor Juan," began the man in black. "I greet you in friendship. I greet all of your people."

The Indian hailed him, replying "Zorro, friend, brother. Are you here about the capitán?"

"Yes, I am," responded El Zorro. "You see, many of his people are worried about him. They know he is ill and needs medicine. They fear that he has been taken by those who wish him harm."

"We do not wish him harm, Zorro. We wish to help," replied Juan.

"I know you wish to help him and I am grateful. There are other whites who do not understand this," the man in black explained. "At this time, some of them are planning raids on your villages to find him. Will you please allow Dr. Aguilera, a white healer, to examine him? He is with me now. I can then inform the other whites to return home because the capitán is in his hands."

Juan looked at his companions and saw their silent disquiet, but he thought that if his people were in any danger, the best thing to do was to agree to this request. Afterwards, he would make a decision on what to do next. "It is some distance back to the pueblo," he pointed out.

El Zorro smiled. "Dr. Aguilera is coming up on the trail just now. Please allow him to examine the capitán. I will return to the pueblo to reassure the whites there that the capitán is in no danger."

Juan nodded as Dr. Aguilera rode up, dismounted, and approached the cart.

As El Zorro turned Tornado’s head away, Juan called to him. "El Zorro, a question please?"

The man in black turned. "Yes, Señor Juan?"

"The capitán. What is his name?"

"He calls himself De las Fuentes," answered Zorro.

"De las Fuentes" repeated the man. His companions repeated the name phonetically "Delazfuentez."

"What does the name mean?" Juan inquired. "It is important that I know."

The Fox paused. "His name literally means ‘from the fountains.’ Fountains are like sparkling or sacred waters," he explained.

Juan looked impressed. He turned towards his companions and spoke. The other men began to murmur among themselves. "I am grateful, El Zorro," he said with a sense of relief.

With a wave of his hand, El Zorro departed and had disappeared along the dark trail as mysteriously as he had appeared.

**************************

Dr. Aguilera had built a small fire. It was hard under the circumstances to do much more than examine the patient and then wait until sunrise for the tasks he would have to perform.

At the cart he felt the forehead of the patient and was surprised that it was not as warm as he expected. He then pulled back the blanket that enveloped the officer and examined his leg, feeling the surrounding tissues and questioning the Indians regarding the wrap on the leg. He removed it over their protestations. In the moonlight he saw a raw wound and shook his head.

"What will you do?" asked Juan. "It is not good that you removed the shaman’s medicine."

"I think I know what I am doing," the doctor informed him. "I am sure that we are all grateful for what you have tried to do, but the capitán has let this infection go for much too long. In the morning, we will boil water and see if his leg needs to come off." He looked around. I will need some more wood for the fire," he suggested. None of the neophytes responded to his suggestion. He knew they disagreed. "Very well, I will fetch it myself." He was thinking that he would get some water from a nearby arroyo as well. He would only be gone a few minutes.

Several minutes later, Doctor Aguilera came back to the site with some water in his canteen. He was startled to see that no one was there. He began to think that he had come back the wrong way, when he spotted his medical bag sitting on the trail. Of the Indians, there was no trace. His horse was gone as well. He ran first in one direction, then in another to see if he could hear the sound of the horse or of the cart and the footsteps of men. But he heard nothing. It would be a long walk back to the pueblo.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 25](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante25.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	25. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-five**

Sergeant Garcia made his way to an empty table in the inn. The atmosphere that evening was subdued and the clientele spoke in hushed whispers as if to speak normally would bring a reprimand. Garcia ordered a bottle of wine from a barmaid and contemplated it before pouring a small amount into two mugs. He placed the bottle in the middle of the table and gave a loud sigh. He picked up one of the mugs and offered it to Corporal Reyes whose face wore a very glum expression.

García was silent a long time before he spoke. He rubbed his stubbled chin a moment with a fat hand and took a long drink. He eyed the corporal.

"You know, Corporal Reyes, I have been thinking." The big man paused and drank again.

"What have you been thinking about, Sergeant?" asked the soldier.

"I have been thinking about Capitán de las Fuentes."

"Me, too, Sergeant."

"I wonder where he might have gone," the big man puzzled. "We looked everywhere. The vaqueros, the rancheros, the merchants, the servants, and even the prisoners looked everywhere, but he is nowhere to be found."

"I know," Reyes confirmed. The corporal sipped his wine a while and then asked. "Say Sergeant, if we looked everywhere, and the comandante is nowhere, then he must be lost."

"I hope he is only lost and not something worse," García responded. "If he is not nowhere then he must be somewhere. Comandantes do not just disappear."

"And if he is lost," continued Reyes, "then he is somewhere and not nowhere." The corporal thought a moment. "Say, Sergeant, if the comandante is lost and somewhere, then we need to find him, even though we have looked everywhere."

"Obviously, if he is lost, then we have not looked everywhere," declared García. He looked troubled. "But, I wonder where he could be."

"Say, Sergeant, maybe we could find him if we got lost looking for him. Maybe we can't find him because we looked everywhere and not nowhere."

García began to look exasperated. "If we got lost, baboso, then everyone would be looking for us and the comandante would still not be found. And even if we found the comandante while we were lost, then all of us would be lost and not found. So how would that help the comandante?"

"Well, if we found the comandante while we were…" began the corporal.

"Corporal Reyes!" ordered the big man. "Not another word from you." He raised a finger as the other soldier opened his mouth. "Not another sound. Do not talk about being lost somewhere that is nowhere because it might be anywhere." He took a long drink and watched the corporal sip his wine.

After a long spell of silence, the sergeant looked at the corporal as the last of the bottle emptied out. "All right, what is it that you want to say now?"

Reyes pointed at his mouth and at the sergeant and shook his head.

"Well, why don't you say something?" He paused. "What is the matter with you, Corporal? Speak!"

Reyes looked around and whispered. "Sergeant, you told me not to make another sound."

García rolled his eyes. "Speak, Corporal, speak! What is it that you want to say?"

"Sergeant, if you can't find the comandante and nobody can find the comandante, then who could find the comandante that no one cannot find?"

The big sergeant looked confounded a moment and started to berate the soldier with "Baboso…", but then he paused. "If nobody cannot find anybody, then who the……" García repeated. He suddenly stopped and began to smile. "Oh, now I see what you mean."

"Uh, what do I mean, Sergeant?"

"That is brilliant, Corporal, brilliant! And I am glad that I thought of it myself!" the sergeant exulted.

"What did you think of, Sergeant?"

"Corporal Reyes, if I was lost and no one could find me, who do you think - in all of Los Angeles, in all of California - who do you think could find me?"

Reyes eyes grew wide. "You don't mean….?"

"Yes!" exclaimed García. "The only man who can find Capitán de las Fuentes is El Zorro!" He became excited and downed the last of his wine in a single gulp. He stood up. "Come with me, Corporal!"

Both men hastened out of the tavern. García's stride was confident and he had a big smile on his face. He marched purposefully toward the cuartel.

Behind him, the shorter corporal hurried to keep up. When they neared the cuartel, García suddenly stopped. "Corporal Reyes?"

"Yes, Sergeant," the smaller man replied.

"The only problem is…" he hesitated with a finger raised "…is that now we need to find Señor Zorro!"

Reyes looked puzzled a moment. "And how do we find Zorro?"

"Corporal, that is easy!" declared García.

" Zorro is not easy to find, Sergeant!"

"We don't have to find Zorro, Reyes. When there is danger, he always finds me!"

"And where will he find you, Sergeant? In the cuartel?"

"No, baboso! Of course, not. The easiest place to find me is in the tavern!" The big man spun on his heel. "Corporal Reyes! About face!" He pointed toward the posada. "Back to the inn!"

***********************

El Zorro knew that the night would be a long one, but he had to make sure that Miguel Cisneros and his followers would make no more mischief. He thought of riding out to the San Miguel Mission where most of the neophytes lived and worked with Padre Felipe. But the good padre could take them in to sanctuary where they would not be harmed. On the other hand, many of the relatives of the mission Indians lived in and around the local rancheros, if not on their ranchos. The closest village, though, was on the other side of the hills, beyond the lands of Don Leon, lands that stretched into the vast distance and who were claimed by no one other than the coyotes, bears, wolves, deer - and the king of Spain. He urged Tornado towards the hills and along secret pathways. He would arrive at the village before the moon began its descent.

In the mud and stick huts covered with the branches of oak trees and other brush, the Indians lived in a close-knit community. Their cooking pots lay in front of their dwellings and sometimes hung from the branches that served as the walls of their homes. The cooking pots of the people were actually tightly woven baskets that could hold water and meal, acorns, fruits, nuts, and berries. Indeed, basket weaving had reached a high art form and was the pride of the native women. The villages were relatively small, especially by Spanish standards but community bonds were strong. Even at this late hour, a large fire burned and the inhabitants sat around the flickering light and spoke of daily events, of common concerns and of the days when the white man was unknown except in travelers' tales. There were no clocks to demand a strict adherence to a mechanical existence and at times, when the moon was full, the men sat and talked until sleep called them to its shadowy world.

It was into this community that a man in a mask and cape rode that night. His appearance aroused no concerns by the watchers and listeners of the night, for they recognized the strange white man in black who rode to assist the oppressed and the poor.

A dignified man with long gray hair stood as the sound of horses' hooves reached the campfire. Other men had risen as well. "It is a white man's horse," said one, "for it wears sandals of iron." "But it is only one rider," pointed out another. "Who is it?" called another. "It is Friend Zorro," called out a man from the edge of the village.

El Zorro rode up and called out in their language. "I greet you, my friends," he said, hailing the group at the campfire.

"We welcome you, Friend Zorro," said the gray-haired man. In the chill of the night, he and the others wore cloaks of fur and feathers.

"I am sorry to call upon you so late in the night, but your people could be in grave danger. I came to warn you of the danger."

"What is this danger?" asked the elder.

"There are some angry whites who believe that your people or men of other tribes have kidnapped a white man. That white man is a leader of the white warriors. He is a new man in the village of the whites and he has given much justice to both whites and Indians. Because of this, he is much loved. His name is Capitán de las Fuentes," explained the man in black. "Out of our love and respect for him, we hunted for him when he disappeared while attempting to capture a white bandit. Only a little while ago, I discovered that some of your people were attempting to aid him. He is badly wounded and sick. The other whites do not know this. Some bad whites believe the capitán was kidnapped and they seek to persecute any Indian that they can find. I am here to warn you so that you can prepare your people in case they try to come here. Some Spaniards are trying to organize an armed force to oppose the bad whites. They have been defending many of your people."

"Thank you, Friend Zorro. We are prepared," the elder replied. He looked up at masked man. "We know of this white man, the one who has done justice. We have seen him. After a meeting of all the men, we decided to help him. Our people are caring for him."

"My friends," Zorro explained. "I thank you for your help and concern, but may I ask you this: why did you not take the capitán to the doctor in the pueblo, Doctor Aguilera? It is my understanding that his life is in danger."

"Friend Zorro. With all respect to you, we think that the white doctor would kill the capitán. We do not want a man of justice to die because, like you, a just white man is like a white deer - rare and sacred."

"You honor us both with your words," Zorro told him.

"Friend Zorro," another man spoke up. "The Indian you call Ignacio has told us about the bad whites. He said that this very evening, the bad ones went to the villa of Don Alejandro de la Vega and others to try to beat words from of our people there. The vaqueros now carry many fire weapons."

"I did not know this," El Zorro told them, "and I must return there to make sure that these bad men do not hurt more people. I want you to know that, should you require assistance, send a man to the home of Don Alejandro and he will send men to assist you to fight the bad whites. If the bad ones come, tell them that Doctor Aguilera has found the capitán."

"We shall do so, my Friend," said the gray-haired elder solemnly.

The man in black thanked them again and turned his horse back towards the hills in the west. It would take some time and he hoped to arrive home before the dawn. Hopefully, his father had not missed him and he could catch a few hours of sleep before returning to the pueblo in order to check on the condition of the comandante, Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes.

************************

Bernardo fell asleep sitting on the large poster bed, his head resting against one of the posts. This is how Diego de la Vega found his loyal servant when he entered the room through the secret entrance by the fireplace wall. Diego smiled to himself and pushed the knob under the mantle that closed a door only known to him and the mozo.

Although the door closed silently, the mozo opened his eyes and turned his head toward the fireplace. Standing there with a bemused smile on his face was his young master already arrayed in a long dressing gown. He nodded as the Diego remarked, "It’s been a long day, Bernardo."

The servant sprang off the bed and raised his arms, spreading out his hands in an upward stance.

"Where have I been? From the tavern to the Old Trail to the Indian village and back," Diego told him and sat down on the bed himself. "Fortunately, I not only came across Doctor Aguilera on the road back into town, but we found the comandante as well. The Indians were caring for him. I persuaded them to allow Doctor Aguilera to examine him. Before this I encountered Señor Enríquez who was searched for the capitán as well. He told me about the comandante’s encounter with the bear and his sickness." Diego smiled wearily. "I might have taken Enríquez except for one thing: not only did I have the feeling that he was genuinely interested in the capitán’s well-being, but I want to give him the trust that I think is necessary to discover what he is really up to in Los Angeles." He paused a moment. "I have the strangest feeling that there is more to Señor Enríquez than meets to eye and I think the comandante has discovered this as well."

Bernardo nodded but indicated he had something to tell Diego as well. He put his two fingers to the back of his head and drew his hands back if shooting an arrow.

"The Indians," Diego began watching the man use sign language to explain his story.

"The Indians here at the hacienda….are hiding."

The mozo nodded. He began an animated description of many men coming to the hacienda.

"Cisneros came here? With many men?" the young man asked in alarm.

Bernardo shook his head vigorously as Diego concluded, "And my father drove them away….with the help of the vaqueros?"

Again the servant assented with vigorous nodding.

"Tell me this, Bernardo," the young don asked, "have the dons organized to protect the Indian villages from the predations of Cisneros and his men?"

Bernardo could only shrug and shake his head.

Diego thought a moment. "The best thing for me now is to get a little sleep. As soon as the morning comes I will speak with Father about what is being done. I need to find out if Doctor Aguilera made it back to the pueblo with the comandante and if anything has been done to put an end to the attacks upon the Indians. Capitán de las Fuentes may not be in any condition to put a stop to these attacks, and if he cannot, there is one man who can."

Bernardo smiled and made a gesture with his forefinger in the shape of a "Z."

Diego looked grim a moment. "Yes. Zorro." With these words, the young don lay down on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. The full moon slowly crossed the sky until it, like the thousands of stars, faded from view in the growing blue of the morning sky.

*************************

Alejandro de la Vega took breakfast on the patio and wondered where his son had disappeared to the night before. Following the confrontation with Miguel Cisneros, Alejandro had sent a vaquero to follow the band of men. The vaquero reported later on that the men had headed back in to town. Cisneros wanted more men, he said, to confront any opposition and for a possible attack upon Indian villages to the east and south. Alejandro sent Benito Àvila to the haciendas of Don Nacho Torres, Juan Villa, and Leon Calderon in order to suggest a meeting and to organize a counterforce. Benito had not yet returned when the white-bearded don looked up and saw his son Diego emerge from his room and head down the stairs towards the patio.

"Good morning, Father," Diego greeted the man at the small table sipping coffee.

Alejandro had been contemplating his tasks for the day. He was a man who preferred direct action and wished to include his son in his plans. He was impatient to begin the day. "Diego," he said rising up out of his chair. "Where have you been? Did you not hear of the visit Cisneros and his men paid to our hacienda last evening?"

"I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Father," Diego apologized. "I was out looking for the comandante at the lake. I found his sword." He watched as his father raised his eyebrows at that. "I decided to head back in to town to see if anyone had heard anything about the comandante. I stopped at the inn and had a few drinks. I must have fallen asleep. I got in pretty late last night."

"Where did you find his sword, Diego?" his father asked. "And did you discover any footprints leading anywhere?"

His son shook his head. "It was in a meadow, beyond the woods. There was no sign of the capitán."

"Because of the vigilantes in town preaching violence and Cisneros' threats, I have thought of a strategy, Diego," began his father. "I have sent word to Don Leon and the others. We need to gather our forces immediately and to patrol the villages to make sure that…" The don was interrupted by the sound of many horses arriving outside the high walls of the hacienda. Father and son looked at each other in alarm and then towards the wooden gate.

Diego rose from his seat along with his father when the gate burst open. In the lead of three men was the vaquero, Miguel Cisneros. When he saw the two men begin to walk toward him, he put up a hand for the men behind him to halt. He strode forward himself. "Don Alejandro," he said in a voice full of triumph, "our fears about the Indian traitors have proven true!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Alejandro de la Vega.

"Early this morning, Doctor Aguilera was discovered outside of town, his horse stolen!" exclaimed the vaquero. "The Indians stopped him from tending to the comandante, whom Zorro discovered. The Indians stole the doctor's horse and have disappeared!"

"Señor Cisneros," Diego asked. "Where is Doctor Aguilera now?"

"I have just come from him. He said the comandante will die without surgery to remove his leg. He said that when he went to fetch wood for a fire and water for the operation, the Indians stole his horse and disappeared with our comandante!" Cisneros turned on the older don. "You said that we should show mercy to these savages, but they have proved by their actions that they mean for him to die! This, this is the result of your pious pleas! We should have wrung from the lips of those heathens what they plan to do to the comandante before allowing him to die!"

Don Alejandro was angered by these words and his face turned red. Before he could rebut the vaquero, Diego grapsed his arm. As the older man looked at his son, Diego turned back to the vaquero and asked urgently. "And where were the Indians headed with our comandante?"

Cisneros waved his arm. "To the east and that is where I and my men are headed. When we find them, they will be sorry that they ever touched him." As he turned away, he shot back, "If you wish to do what is right, Don Alejandro, you will gather your vaqueros and join us in the hunt." With that he left the patio followed by two of his men.

Diego and his father looked at each other in consternation. "Let us gather our arms, at once, Diego! Juan and Leon, Rafael and Nacho should be here soon. Our first task will be to prevent a massacre!" With that, the white-bearded man headed towards the door of the sala. The servants would be informed to gather arms and prepare the horses.

Diego motioned Bernardo to him and whispered. "There is little time for me to act. Pack my belongings in a saddlebag. I intend to disappear from the crowd should it be necessary. Zorro will have to ride both in disguise as well as out of disguise before this day is up. As for you, my friend, I have an important mission for you in the pueblo."

***********************

"She tossed and turned all night long, Mama," Ismaida told her mother in a whisper outside her bedroom door. "At dawn she woke herself up saying his name. It woke me up, too."

"Let's not say anything to her about what is happening," her mother suggested. "We should say nothing to María as well. It will only upset her and she needs rest away from all her worries."

"What is happening, Mama?" the girl asked. "Have they found Don Francisco?"

Ramona bit her lip. She did not want her daughter to hear the latest news because she knew Ismaida might not be able to conceal how she felt for long. "I don't know for sure," she told her daughter. "There are still many men out looking for him. Let's keep Margarita occupied with chores here at the house today. Practice your music and tell her to prepare for a presentation for Don Francisco. Tomorrow all of you can go for a picnic or I can go with you on a ride out to visit Juanita and Josefina."

Ismaida nodded. Then she took her mother's hand. "Mama, I have to tell you something important," she began. She smoothed her long velvet dress and looked down at the floor as if uncertain how to begin.

"About Margarita?" Ramona smiled.

"Well, not exactly," the girl said. "But you have to keep it a secret."

Her mother nodded. "You tell me lots of secrets, daughter."

"But this one is an important one," Ismaida insisted. "Promise not to tell?"

"I promise. What is this secret that is so important?" her mother asked.

Ismaida looked up and down the hall and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Last night, while we were having tea in my room there was a strange knocking at my window. When we looked up, El Zorro stepped right into my room! He had come to speak with Margarita about Don Francisco……"

*************************

The cloud of dust could be seen from far away, long before the thunder of hooves could be heard on the road leading out from the pueblo of Los Angeles. At the head of the group rode an excited and eager array of men from various backgrounds, both vaqueros as well as rancheros, coachmen, and small businessmen. They had but one goal: to find a cart surrounded by natives and to rescue a white man on that cart. These men were armed with pistols, rifles, swords and knives. They were prepared to use them.

Not far behind them rode another group of men just as eager to do battle. Among them were the leading rancheros of the district, vaqueros, merchants, servants, and even a musician. Their goal was to overtake the first group and to also rescue a man being transported by the natives. Likewise, they were also armed with firearms, swords, and ropes.

Unknown to the pursuers, a small group of native Californians made their way eastwards towards the rocky hills and scrub brush. This was a land of wiry hares and coyotes, of deer and wolves, of bears and kit foxes. To the European eye it was empty, barren and dry. It was also a land of secrets - secrets known only to those who had called the land home for thousands of years, long before the white man arrived. It was a place of invisible flowing waters under the sands that broke to the surface in an oasis hidden below a rocky valley. The river opened and poured its precious fluid almost from nowhere. There were hidden caves and springs. It was a place with an abundance of life - birds, fish, reeds, trees, moonlight, and the fragrance from thousands of wildflowers. Most importantly, though, it was a place of magic, and of spirits.

.

*********************

Bernardo made his way on horseback into the pueblo of Los Angeles. In his hat he carried an important message that he was to deliver to the cuartel. The mozo, dressed in his usual brown trousers, off-white shirt with brown vest and jacket, dismounted from his horse and tied him to a post. He went to the gates and showed an envelope to the soldier on duty.

The soldier took it from the mozo. "To Sergeant García," the man read out loud. He handed the envelope back to the servant. "He's not here," he told the deaf man.

Bernardo pointed inside the gate with the envelope but the soldier continued to shake his head.

Another soldier appeared. This one had a pencil-mustache. Bernardo recognized him as Hugo, a man who had attempted in the past to communicate with him. The new man asked the other, "What does he want?"

"He has a letter for Sergeant García, but I told him the sergeant is not here," the first soldier told him.

"You can't speak to him, he's deaf. Try explaining it instead."

"You can't explain anything to a deaf mute," the first soldier insisted.

"Of course, you can," the first insisted. "Just try."

"Hugo, you do it," the first said. "I don't want to be bothered."

Hugo thought a moment. He gestured the mozo over to him. "Let's see," he mused. He pointed to the name on the envelope. "Sergeant García," he said. The mozo nodded rapidly with a smile on his face.

"Sergeant García is not here," the soldier shook his head. Then he pointed to the tavern and again pointed to the envelope. "He's at the tavern."

Bernardo pointed at the name on the envelope, then turned around and pointed at the tavern. He smiled and nodded. The soldier smiled and nodded and kept pointing. Bernardo took the envelope, waved and headed toward the tavern.

Hugo turned to the first soldier. "You see, Marcos, it **_is_** possible to talk to a deaf man."

************************

"Don Diego," the tall vaquero called out.

Diego de la Vega was coming down the stairs at the hacienda and saw a group of vaqueros on the patio. One of the stepped out of the group and approached him.

"Yes, Benito," the young man responded.

"May I have a word with you, please?" the man with the thick, clipped mustache whispered urgently.

"Of course," the young man replied. The two of them walked towards the front door. There in the shaded entrance the vaquero spoke to him in a hushed tone.

"Don Diego, I have just learned a secret," the vaquero confided in a hushed tone.

"What secret is that, Benito?"

The stocky vaquero looked around, then whispered, "My mother just told me that she knows why her people are taking the comandante and in what direction they are headed."

"Señor Cisneros told my father and I where they are going," the young man explained.

"Yes, I know, Don Diego," the other man nodded, "but they do not know exactly where her people are headed, only in what direction."

This was important news indeed. Diego looked directly into the vaquero's eyes. "Is your mother willing to tell you where they are going?" he asked cautiously.

"She was very reluctant to tell me anything else, only saying that she knows about it and that they will help the comandante."

"Where is your mother now?"

"She is working in the kitchen," Benito responded.

The wooden door to the kitchen opened from the hall. An Indian woman with long, greying hair looked up and saw her son enter the room. His face bore a serious continence and he nodded to her. She put down the pestal on the table next to the mortar and straightened up. Behind her son, came the young master of the house, Don Diego. The woman wiped her hands on her apron. "Good morning, my son. Good morning, Don Diego."

"Mother," began the vaquero, "I had to tell Don Diego what you told me about the comandante and where our people are taking him and why. Please tell him where they are going."

"I asked you to say nothing, my son," she gently upbraided him.

"I am sorry, Mother," the stocky man told her. "I did what I thought was right."

The young ranchero looked apologetic. "I am sorry, Señora Avila," he said, "to ask you about something said in confidence. As you know, all of us are very worried about Capitán de las Fuentes. But we are also very worried about your people and what the bad ones will do if they find them with the capitán."

The woman bowed her head and did not reply.

"If you could only tell us, then we could ride to them directly and help them fight off the bad ones," Diego continued. His explanation illicited no further words from the woman.

"Please, Mother," pleaded Benito. "You know that the De la Vegas are honorable men. You know that they have treated me, your son, as a man, no different from other Spaniards. They have done their best to help our people against the white racists. Is this not a good reason for telling Don Diego what we need to know to save everyone?"

"Let me add my voice to Benito's, Señora Avila," Diego said. "In these times, a few words, only a few words, could help prevent a massacre of your people by the likes of Miguel Cisneros. Surely, you do not want this to happen."

The woman looked up at the two men with tears in her eyes and whispered. "I am sorry, Don Diego, I have said too much already."

"Mother, please…." Began the vaquero again, but Diego took his arm.

"It's all right, Benito," he told the man. "Your mother could be in danger if she told us anything more. We must respect her right to silence." With that he motioned the man out of the room.

When the reached the porch of the hacienda, Diego stopped suddenly. "You know, Benito, I have an idea. I think that your mother will tell where her people are headed to."

"But how, Don Diego?" the man asked. "She said she will say no more."

"Perhaps she needs to tell the right man and I think I know who he might be," the young don smiled. When he saw the question forming on the man's lips, he patted his shoulder. "Do not worry, Benito, I think I have found a solution. Now, it is you who can do me a favor. Gather the vaqueros in front of the hacienda, outside the patio. But do not enter the patio. My father should be here at any time. When he arrives, go with him. I will join you later."

"Even if we must leave without you, Don Diego?"

"Even if you must leave without me. I promise, however, to join you as soon as possible." With these words, the young don spun on heel and re-entered the sala. He turned back at the entrance to the door, however and shot the vaquero a smile.

Benito could only shrug. He had no idea how Don Diego would convince his mother to part with her secret. He returned to the group of vaqueros to give them their orders and to wait for the arrival of Don Alejandro.

*****************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 26](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante26.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	26. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-six**

Bernardo found Sergeant Garcia at the inn. He was seated at a table with Corporal Reyes and there was a bottle of wine on the table. Standing before the sergeant was a man who held his hat in his hand and was looking rather unhappy, Bernardo thought. He waited before going over to the table, wanting to listen first to what was transpiring between the men.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, Sergeant," the man holding his hat said. "But that is what happened. I thought that you should know."

"Thank you, Angel," the soldier replied with some gusto. "I had wondered where Tomás Robello might have gone and now I know." He saw that Angel Ledesma was still uncertain about what he had just said. "Listen, Angel. I don't blame you for telling me. After all, Tomás was wrong to run away. Our comandante was treating him well and he had nothing to fear." He poured out some wine. "Here, have some wine. This will make you feel better."

Ledesma looked at the wine, put his hat down on the table, inspected the small amount, took the mug from García and drank. When he finished, he gestured with the mug for more. "I feel **_real_** bad about telling you, Sergeant," he said.

García sighed and poured him some more wine from the bottle. "It's not your fault. You were right to tell me."

The vaquero polished off the wine fairly quickly and held the mug out again. "There is more to tell," he added.

García looked at the diminishing level of wine in the bottle, glanced at Reyes who was staring at the bottle in dismay, and decided to pour some more anyway. "What is it that you know?" he asked curiously.

"Tomás wanted to help find the comandante, to find Capitán de las Fuentes," Angel continued, "but he was afraid that if Capitán Monastario were to come back soon, his goose would be cooked."

"I see what you mean," García said thoughtfully. "Still, it would have been better to remain in jail. He was working off his fines there."

To Reyes' consternation, the vaquero grabbed the bottle of wine and emptied the last of it into the mug before García could stop him. He took a long drink with his eyes closed, and polished off the contents. He uttered a sigh of contentment, took a kerchief out of his pocket, wiped his mouth, and handed the empty mug back to García who stared at it. "There's more to it," he confided to the sergeant. "Tomás thought that if Monastario came back before he could work off his fines, then he would be sent off as a slave to a mine or something worse. He would never come back alive. Tomás thought it would be better to look after himself first and worry about the consequences later."

"I see," García nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe it was not such a bad idea after all." When Reyes raised his eyebrows at that comment, the fat soldier continued, "but Capitán de las Fuentes would not allow anything bad to happen to Tomás. He makes sure that everyone receives justice, even Tomás."

"Thanks for the wine, Sergeant," Angel Ledesma concluded. "I just thought it would be helpful for you to know. When Capitán de las Fuentes comes back, he will understand what happened after you tell him how the prisoner got away." The vaquero walked away and headed toward the bar where he ordered a bottle for himself. García looked momentarily hopeful at that, but sighed as the vaquero stayed at the counter talking to the barmaid, Conchita Cortéz.

"That was a lot of wine to give him to find out what happened to Tomás," García told the corporal. "Now we don't have any left."

"That's all right, Sergeant," Reyes responded. "When you tell the comandante what happened, he won't be too mad."

"You know, Corporal, I have never seen the comandante get mad before," García mused, "not even when Señor Enríquez escaped. He doesn't seem to get mad. He says that we just have to do the best that we can under the circumstances." The big man looked a bit smug.

"What if the comandante who finds out about the escaped prisoner is not Capitán de las Fuentes," Reyes pressed.

The smug demeanor of the sergeant disappeared at that comment. "I see what you mean," the big man said in concern. "If Capitán Monastario were to return before Tomás were captured, then he would be mad." Anticipating that encounter made the sergeant wish that he had more wine in the bottle.

"Real mad," added the corporal. He looked up noticing someone approach the table. The sergeant did not see who was approaching from behind him and was wondering why the corporal began to smile.

"I can hear him yelling at me already," García began mournfully, "and not even any wine to…" He looked up and then smiled hugely himself. "Ah, Bernardo," he said in a welcoming voice although he knew the man could not hear him.

Standing before him, carrying a newly opened bottle of wine was the mozo. He looked around him as if looking for an empty table. He pointed at a seat at the table with the soldiers. He looked askance.

"Why of course, Little One," García enthused, standing up. He gestured toward the empty chair and encouraged the "deaf" man over. "Here, have a seat."

Bernardo nodded, gave a big smile, and sat down. He gestured García to do the same. He poured himself some wine and seemed to enjoy its flavor, nodding and gesturing at his bottle. He pretended not to notice the soldiers staring at it. He raised his mug in a toast to them and the two soldiers smiled half-heartedly at his gesture, raising their empty mugs. Bernardo turned and raised his mug to the barmaid who smiled and waved with her fingers in greeting. The mozo seemed to be enjoying himself.

García and Reyes looked at each other, looked at their empty mugs and then stared at Bernardo.

Suddenly, the mozo acted as if he understood. He pointed at their bottle and raised his hands in question. García took the empty bottle and turned it upside down. A single red drop came out and hit the table. He turned the bottle back up and returned it to its position. Bernardo drank some more, then smiled. He gestured at their empty mugs. It was hard for him to judge which soldier shoved their mug at him faster. Bernardo filled up each of their mugs about half way. All three men raised their cups in a silent toast.

"Ah, excellent," remarked García as he took a long swig. "I was wondering when he was going to notice."

The corporal sipped his. "I know what you mean, Sergeant."

Bernardo pulled his hat over his head from behind his back and placed it on the table. He reached inside and took out an envelope. He handed it to García.

"A letter, for me?" The big man took it, studying the envelope. "To Sergeant García," he read out loud. "Let's see who it is from." He broke the wax seal on the back and flicked open the folded piece of parchment. He glanced at the signature quickly before reading the contents. "It is from Don Diego," he told the corporal.

"What does it say, Sergeant?" Reyes asked.

"Hmm. Don Diego says that I am to come at once with the soldiers from the cuartel. Miguel Cisneros and his men are in pursuit of the Indians who took the comandante away. He says the Indians want to help cure the Capitán but that Miguel and his men want to kill the Indians. Don Alejandro and his men are giving chase so that there will not be a massacre. Don Diego says that we are to take the eastern trail out of town towards ." The big man looked up in alarm. "….the San Bernardino Mountains?" He saw Bernardo smiling and nodding, raising his mug in another toast. The big man grabbed his hat and lurched to his feet. "Come on Corporal Reyes, there is no time to lose!" He stuffed the letter into his hat and headed for the door..

The corporal was close behind him when he called to the big man hastening towards the gates of the cuartel. "I thought we were going to wait for Zorro to find you, Sergeant."

"There is no time to lose," García replied. "Now we must save the comandante, the Indians **_and_** Don Alejandro. By the time Zorro finds out…" He paused. "By the time Zorro finds me and finds out about what is going on, it might be too late for everyone!"

*******************

A gray-haired woman with thick long hair sat back and thought about what had happened that morning. After her son, Benito, and Don Alejandro's son, Diego, left the room, she had returned to grinding the nuts into a paste for cooking later on. She kept herself busy with her tasks, not even pausing when she heard the rush of horses, the voices of men, and their loud departure. Don Alejandro leading a group of rancheros, his own vaqueros and others departed soon afterwards in pursuit of Miguel Cisneros and his men.

The house was quiet except for the gardener tending to the plants and flowers and the maid making the beds, folding the linens or preparing the wash. Those were the comforting sounds of routine, so comforting that she barely noticed the footsteps outside the door. They were the footsteps of a man who walked as softly as a mountain lion, she thought, and looked up at once. She was not expecting to see a white man.

Standing before her, dressed in black, was the figure her people knew well as El Zorro. She straightened up, not fearing him at all, but surprised at his appearance. He assured her that he meant her no harm.

"Señor Ávila, I have been to the village of family of Ignacio who works for Padre Felipe at the Mission San Gabriel," El Zorro explained. "The men there told me that they knew about the comandante and it was their intention to help him. I explained to them the danger they were in from the racists so they could prepare for their defense. They assured me that they were prepared and they would do what they could to help the situation." The tall man in black paused. "Señora, it would be very helpful to me if I were to know which trail to follow in order to render the best assistance to your people who are now being pursued by Cisneros. Would you please give me this information?"

"I will tell you, Señor Zorro," the woman replied, "because you are a friend of the poor and the peoples of the Earth, the people of the valleys, of the rivers, who are my people. But you must know that this is a secret place, a sacred place. No white man has ever been there."

He nodded in understanding. "I will keep this place a secret from all other white men."

"There are paths that will save you many hours journey," she told him, "even from here."

Soon afterwards, the man in black departed from the kitchen as silently as he had appeared. No one saw him enter the sala or disappear through the doors of a large bookcase in the room. From there he made his way down stone stairs to a secret cave below the hacienda. He changed clothes and mounted a dark brown steed. Now he knew where to go. It would be easier catch up with his father's posse and join them unnoticed as if he had followed behind them all along. He would find out what the situation was and, if necessary, appear once again as the masked man in black, El Zorro.

*********************

Joaquín Enríquez watched the events in town as he hid among the empty crates and hemp bags alongside the general store. The pueblo of Los Angeles was almost deserted of men. It was the best thing that could have happened and it would make his task all the more easy to accomplish, at least this part of it. He had come to town once before and almost encountered El Zorro on the streets at night. But now, circumstances were better. He would make his way to the home of Señor Portillo and retrieve another item to add to his "collection." No one would expect him to just walk in during broad daylight and he knew exactly what he was looking for and where it would be. If he encountered the old man, or anyone else for that matter, he would know how to handle the situation. Finally, the most difficult acquisition would be at the church. It would not be easy to get in and out for the final object, but perhaps events would present themselves as his opportunity - events such as the return of the comandante to Los Angeles, whether alive or dead. The town, including the church, would empty out for that, and he would then make his move.

And there was the matter of his bargain with El Zorro. He had already kept that, and it came about sooner than he expected. He was sending the masked man something the Fox would not expect. In fact, no one would expect it. Most importantly, it would help save the comandante, that is, if anything could. Joaquín Enríquez smiled to himself as he laid his plans and began to take the steps to implement them.

*********************

"We are being pursued," two men reported to the man the whites called "Juan." His real name among his people was Blue Feather because his mother had collected the feathers of bush jays and when she finished a cloak of them, he was born. But the whites knew nothing of this. Nor could they pronounce his name in his own language. Padre Felipe had given him the name of Juan, telling him it was the name of one of the followers of the son of the white god who resembled somewhat the Great Spirit. The Spaniards gave such names to all the Indians who worked at the mission or for whites.

In the distance, clouds of dust could be seen, one closer and one much further away. It would now be a race to the refuge. After leaving the white doctor near a crossroads, Blue Feather had asked his brothers to make haste. With the horse pulling the cart instead of men, it would be easier to travel more quickly. Nevertheless, the condition of man in the cart had to be taken into consideration. He had reapplied the shaman's dressing and medicine after the white doctor had removed it. He gave the man in the cart a drink made by the shaman who helped the man to sleep and not notice the rough trail that they now had to travel over.

After consulting with the other men, Blue Feather decided on a strategy. Several of the men would leave the group and head off to the south, others to the north into the immediate hills. They would allow themselves to be seen by their pursuers. This would enable Blue Feather and a few remaining men to make their way alone with the Capitán to the secret place. It was imperative that they were not to be followed. The men were willing to give their lives to make sure that this was so.

********************

A lone rider trailed the last group. He was a tall young man who rode a dark horse. He had nearly caught up to the riders.

Alejandro de la Vega turned in his saddle and saw a rider emerge from around a group of rocks and looked surprise. He slowed down as the young man drew abreast of him. "Diego, where have you been?" he asked. "I thought we were to leave together."

"I'm sorry, Father," the young ranchero replied. "I sent Bernardo in to town with a letter for Sergeant García explaining the situation and asking him to muster his men and ride in order to help us stop Cisneros."

Alejandro was impressed. "That was good thinking, my son," he responded nodding in approval. Then he pointed ahead. "It looks like Cisneros has made good time, but we have been able to gain ground because his men have had to stop and track the Indians. Some of his men are very professional and have seen through the ruses of using branches to cover the tracks of the cart."

"Where do you think the Indians are headed, Father?" the young man asked.

"It is said that there may be some more powerful tribes in this area, ones we have not encountered before. Others say that there are many hidden valleys and canyons that the Indians could retreat to, lands unexplored and unknown by us." The older man looked contemplative a moment. "We are not sure what we are up against. Perhaps it is a good thing that the army will be following in our wake."

"If Sergeant García comes the right way, Father," Diego pointed out.

Alejandro laughed. "He could hardly miss our trail, my son. At least two dozen men with Cisneros and at least that many on our side."

Don Leon rode alongside the two men. "Look, Alejandro!" he said in an excited voice. "It looks like Cisneros has split his forces."

Don Alejandro pulled up the reins and slowed down his mount. He began to examine the tracks very carefully. In another minute, the men behind him milled about, examining the trails through the sagebrush and rocky terrain. The bearded don rose up in his saddle and addressed the men around him. "It looks like Cisneros has sent his men in two directions. Perhaps in an effort to circle the Indians and cut them off." He was distracted by a figure climbing up a high rock in an outcrop nearby. He recognized Diego by his clothing. The young man had dismounted and taken the initiative to get the best view of the lands ahead from a large outcrop of boulders and rocks.

The young man reached the top of the outcrop and made his way to the highest point. From there he overlooked the valley that stretched before them. He pointed first to the north, towards the mountains, and then further south, towards other rocky hills. The other dons, vaqueros, and men watched him as he scrambled back down the rocks, making his way through the brush and boulders. Finally he jogged towards them. When he arrived, he was almost breathless.

"What did you see, Diego?" asked Don Nacho.

"Cisneros appears to be pursuing two groups of Indians," the young man told them between breaths of air. "One group of neophytes seems to have headed towards the foothills of the mountains, there, to the north. The other group is fleeing towards the south. There are even more hills and trees there."

"So," Alejandro said with clarity. "Cisneros must follow both groups, not knowing which one to pursue, not knowing which one has the comandante." He paused significantly. "And we must follow them, too, not knowing which one will lead us to Capitán de las Fuentes."

It was sometime later that Alejandro noticed that Diego was not with the group of men that he led towards the northern foothills. He assumed that his son had joined the other group headed up by Don Juan Villa that pursued Cisneros' men to the south. Little did he know that from behind a boulder emerged a man in black attire with a flowing cape and black hat.

The man in black mounted a dark brown horse and followed a trail north, towards the mountains, in pursuit of Miguel Cisneros. He knew this would be the correct direction of pursuit based on what Benito’s mother told him. He then noticed something that caught his eye and made him come to a halt. He dismounted and examined his surroundings, the sandy dirt and the tangled underbrush. A looked of respect and admiration spread across his face. He immediately understood what was taking place.

El Zorro put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle as he remounted the horse. He paused a moment before continuing and shook his head. "Señor Juan is a very good strategist," he said out loud. "He sends two groups of his men to divert the forces of his enemies, and leads the third - with the comandante - to the sacred place of the Indians where he hopes to cure the Capitán." The Fox smiled grimly as he urged his horse forward on the nearly invisible trail. "May his ruse last long enough to get them all to safety."

************************

Sebastián Pérez was becoming impatient. His wife had made the decision to stay, not just one night with the Rodríguez family, but several. A servant had arrived at his home to inform him of the fact. It was outrageous and ridiculous, he told himself. Perhaps he had not thrashed her enough or often enough.

Then there was Margarita. She had made no attempt to contact him or to come home, begging to be allowed back in. It was that notorious troublemaker, Don César, whose fault that was, he fumed. No doubt he and his wife influenced María to stay with Margarita, encouraging her defiance and her disobedient behavior. _That's what I get for allowing all those music lessons and putting up with Margarita's rebellious behavior for all these years_. He might have brought all these problems under control were it not for a third factor: That was the new comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes, a man Sebastian considered extremely eccentric and opinionated. Not only had the man insulted the monarchy, Spain's illustrious painters and the Court by his stories and gossip, but he openly encouraged Margarita to defy him, her own father! _He must be a secret Republican_ , Sebastian muttered to himself _. Fiddling while he burned Rome - and all the family values I hold dear_. Sebastian would never forgive the comandante for the humiliation he suffered that night at the Rodríguez party. But he would have his revenge. However, his revenge against De las Fuentes would be only secondary to the surrender of Margarita to his parental authority. She would find herself left in the lurch by the Capitán who discouraged her marriage to Salvador and that would make solving his problem all the easier. Margarita **_would_** marry Salvador. It would take some time, but his will would prevail.

In the meanwhile, Señor Pérez decided to take a few steps of his own. He would make an appearance at the Rodríguez household and demand to see María and Margarita. Then he would issue an ultimatum. He might have a few problems with Rodríguez himself who had taken Margarita in, but he would accuse the musician of breaking up a family. That would put that flamboyant popinjay on the defensive.

It was to his dismay that he found himself watching a carriage depart from the Rodríguez household in the opposite direction just as he approached the home on foot. In the carriage were the Rodríguez women, his daughter, Margarita, and wife, María, wearing a veil, but dressed colorfully. Following on horseback were three guitar playing musicians. They were already making a racket! Even if he had shouted, he would not have been heard. He stood in the dirt road and watched the departing carriage. Everyone seemed to be laughing and having a good time. That was not the scene he wanted to see.

Sebastian stopped in his tracks and considered his options. He marched straight up to the Rodríguez household, entered through the patio and pounded on the door. A few minutes later a maid answered his call. No, she said, Doña Ramona did not say when they would be back. I am sorry, Señor Pérez, they only said they were picnicking all day. Maybe they would visit the neighbors. No, Don César was not at home. He was with Don Alejandro and his men. She did not know when he would be back either. Sebastian could only look extremely irritated. He left his card and insisted that he be contacted at everyone's first convenience. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts of what he would do next that he failed to notice a man with an unshaven face, large white teeth, wild black eyes and an amused smile who watched him from the shadows of a nearby wall.

*******************

There were gunshots fired and the pursuing men, led by Miguel Cisneros, saw the Indians spread out in all directions before him. The tall brush, the numerous rocks made it more difficult to locate the men, but he would flush them out, one by one. They were making their way into the mountains. There, with numerous hiding places, possibly caves, the natives could lose themselves in. And who knows if he and his men would encounter Indian reinforcements. Cisneros had mainly experienced cowed neophytes at the mission and on the lands of the rancheros, but he had seen the pagans in the hills defy their conquerors as well. The pagans were a pitiful lot, he decided, with their primitive spears and arrows. In southern California's warm climate, most of them went naked, both men and women, and they had no more thought for it than animals did. Nevertheless, Indians in general resisted weakly and had been easily subdued, he thought. He was stunned when one of his men, Pablo, rode up to him amidst the firing and told him that there was no sign of the cart or the comandante. "They must have used these men to take us off the scent, Miguel," the man pointed out.

Cisneros sucked in his breath. _The treachery of those heathens_ , he fumed. He never would have imagined that they could trick him. They were, after all, just Indians! He was the lead vaquero of Don Pedro and no heathen would put one over on him! "Then it's back to the south, that's where they are headed!" he exclaimed.

His companion fired a shot in the air with a rifle and the men pursuing the fleeing natives halted and headed back towards Cisneros. "What is going on, Miguel?" they demanded.

"We've been tricked. This was a ruse to split us up. They are headed to the south," the vaquero told them. He pointed in the direction they had come. "Let's get those bastard heathens!" he roared. A dozen men on horses headed at full gallop in the direction they had come, leaving behind a few wounded Indians and those who would tend to them. Afterwards, they would make their way towards safer grounds in the late afternoon and coming evening where it would be impossible for the whites to track them in the dark. It would be another half an hour before Cisneros and his men returned to their point of origin. When they reached a faint trail and the sign of hoof prints, they turned south.

As his men pulled ahead of him and sped along the trail ahead, Pablo came to a halt. He looked down and seemed to be studying the land. Cisneros looked back and saw him. He hesitated and pulled back. He turned around and rode back. He was curious as he rode up to the other vaquero. "What's wrong?" he shouted.

Pablo dismounted and examined the soil. He took quick steps in one direction and then in another. He examined the branches of bushes and stooped down to examine rocks. He looked up at Cisneros. He smiled crookedly. "This is the route they've taken," he announced triumphantly.

"How can you tell?" demanded Miguel.

"The broken branches of the brushes give them away."

"Couldn't some animals have made it?" Miguel asked. "What else have you found?"

"These stones have been kicked out of the way. Look, here!" the man became excited. "Here is part of a cart track! This is where we must follow them!"

Cisneros looked over his shoulder in the direction his men had taken. They had disappeared in a cloud of dust. There would be little chance to catch up with them any time soon and bring them back in force. "What should we do?" he asked.

"Strike while the iron is hot!" Pablo told him. "With just two of us following them, we may have a better chance to discover where they are going. When we do, we could nab them. We have plenty of ammunition, they have none."

Cisneros began to smile. Not only had he split his forces, the Indians, with far less men had also split theirs. With his rifles and Pablo, he would capture the neophytes, rescue the Capitán and met out well-deserved punishment to the rebels who had dared to kidnap the comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 27](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante27.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	27. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-seven**

The journey to the entrance of the sacred valley was not really that far, but it was not an easy journey for a horse and cart. The paths were made for men traveling on foot. It was a trail that meandered through the rises and falls in the landscape, around huge boulders and prickly bushes. Not more than an hour's sojourn towards the rocky hills, Blue Feather abandoned the cart and horse. A blanket strung between two strong saplings carried the sick white man that the four natives wielded. It was now a matter of time before they reached the sanctuary.

Not far behind them, a man in black traced the natives' trail, discovering broken twigs and branches, kicked stones - all the signs of the passing of men. It was his goal to see that the Indians reached their hideout and to be of assistance if he could. Not far behind him were two other trackers with a much different intent, and they were making good time as well.

The afternoon was beginning to fade, for the night came early this time of year. Already the chirps of birds began to be replaced by the silence of dusk. It was then that El Zorro found the abandoned cart. Dr. Aguilera's horse had been unfastened at the cart, but the animal remained with it as if afraid to leave it. El Zorro approached the animal momentarily, petting it and calming it. He knew it might be helpful to have the animal later on, but he had a much more important mission while it was still light - to catch up with Juan, his companions and the comandante.

It is much easier for men following a group of fugitives to find them if they do not have to search too carefully for clues. Much harder is the role of the tracker who must use his knowledge to interpret correctly breaks in the natural order of which is not evident to the undiscerning eye. Now that the path moved up into the mountains, itself a stony path. Now it was easier for El Zorro to follow on horseback.

A strong wind hit him as he reached the top of the rise causing the cape behind him to flutter like a sail. Before him lay numerous folds of rocky hills, brush, and trees. The horse’s footsteps took him around a boulder. Suddenly, the trail headed downhill, steeply, before reaching a curve. It was here that El Zorro caught a glimpse of the four Californians with their burden ahead of him. In the face of this tempest, he headed down the trail after them, unheard by them. Within a few minutes, two other men came to the top of the rise and also spotted the four men. They did not see El Zorro because, despite the trail down, it curved, and he was not visible at the moment.

Miguel Cisneros pointed ahead. "There they are!" he said to his companion.

Pablo pulled his rifle out, stood high in the stirrups, took careful aim, and fired at the group of Indians. One of them dropped and the others stopped in alarm and shock, looking behind them. The first thing they saw was a man in black heading toward them with a cape flowing behind them. It was inconceivable that El Zorro would have fired the shot. Then they saw two other men following close behind him at full gallop. They were not sure what to make of the situation, but their mission was the more important.

Blue Feather sank to the side of his brother who had been shot. All four men crouched to be less visible. He quickly examined the man and saw that he had been hit in the upper arm, but he would mend. He could not, however, carry the stretcher. Still, they had to move forward, Blue Feather took both ends in his hands and continued to move among the rocks. They were so close, yet still not quite there.

El Zorro heard the shots fired from behind him. He knew anyone who had followed him must not have seen him and he would take advantage of that. He passed a large boulder and pulled his mount just off the path where he could not be seen. He released the whip he carried with him and waited. In a moment two riders passed him at a gallop. One was taking aim with a pistol as they closed on the group of natives.

Suddenly, a whip lashed out, catching the man by the neck and pulled him from the horse. The pistol went flying.

Miguel Cisneros turned around and saw Pablo fall to the side of the trail. He became furious. He understood at once that Zorro did not intend for him to capture the rebels. He raised his own pistol and fired another shot at the fleeing natives. Another dropped. He pulled another pistol from his waist, aimed and then, fired at the man in black.

El Zorro saw the shot coming and dropped instantly low along the neck of the horse. The shot whizzed by his shoulder as he dropped. It was the closest he had ever come to death from pistol fire. His mount charged on. In a moment, the horse overtook the other rider and a man in black rose up, towering over his opponent as a spirit would over a grave. In his hand was his saber.

Cisneros twisted out of the way and drew his own sword. The clash of steel resounded in the fading light. El Zorro knew there was little time left and he was determined to put a quick end to the contest. The thrusts of his opponent's sword were easily deflected but Cisneros was aggressive and energetic. He was also angry.

"Never let anger determine the path of the blade, Señor," Zorro chided him.

"So, you would aid the rebels and have our comandante die?" shot back the vaquero.

"You understand nothing, Señor," the man in black told him. "The natives will cure him, not kill him. You do not know what they will not do for a white man that they have come to love."

"Those beasts will kill him," Cisneros insisted, jabbing fruitlessly with his blade as the other turned it aside. "What do they know of medicine or taking off a leg?" He grunted in effort. "They will only kill the comandante." He winced as El Zorro's blade cut his arm. "Just as you will kill me to defend those animals."

"I am afraid that you are very much misinformed," the Fox said, "for your hatred blinds you to the fact that they are men as well and have a tradition that dates back as long as they have inhabited these lands." Again his blade found its mark. "And now, Señor, it is time to end this contest."

Within minutes, Miguel Cisneros found himself trussed up, seated on a rock and the man in black bidding him farewell. "So now you leave me here to die," the vaquero spat bitterly, "where any wild animal can find me in this helpless state."

"You will be quite safe here, Señor Cisneros," El Zorrol told him. "And if by chance, any wild beast finds you, you may find that you will have congenial company!" With that, he disappeared among the rocks.

***********************

Don Alejandro and his friends caught up to Cisneros' men who had ridden to the south. The latter had begun to fire upon the fleeing natives when they found themselves fired on from behind. They turned in surprise and caught sight of the figure of the tall, white-bearded don with a saber in one hand, urging his men forward. With a few shots, it was over. Cisneros' men had no desire to be killed fighting their own neighbors. Don Alejandro then rode forward to let the Indians know that he was there and that they could stop fleeing. It was some time before they did so. Alejandro knew that they really had no choice because they were up against steep cliffs, boxed in by the men that pursued them. He waited for them in the open and without a sword or gun. He knew they could see that he was not armed.

There was a slight movement in the tall bushes and dry grasses. One of the Indians came forward. "Don Alejandro," he said. "We are not armed."

"Where is the comandante?" asked Alejandro. "Now that we are here, we wish to escort him to safety. Your people will not be harmed."

"He is not with us," the native Californian explained. "We were sent here to distract the Bad Ones. We have done so."

The white-bearded man was impressed with their cunning. "You did a good job, Ignacio. But we still need to tend to the capitán."

"Do not worry, Don Alejandro," Ignacio replied. "The one you call 'Juan' is helping the capitán."

"How can Juan help? Is he a shaman?" asked the don.

"No," responded the Indian. "But he is taking the capitán to a place where there are powerful spirits and sacred waters. He says the capitán must return to a place like where he sprang from in order to be healed."

The don was puzzled. "What do you mean 'like the place he sprang from?"

The Californian looked patiently at the white man he knew as a good man. "As El Zorro told us, the capitán is also of the sacred waters. It is his name."

Alejandro nodded in understanding, but before he could say anything, there were shots fired from behind his men in the distance. Ignacio pulled him down to the ground in a crouching position. "More Bad Ones have arrived," he said urgently.

The second group of Cisneros men rode up from behind, thinking they had caught up with their own men. When they saw members of Don Alejandro's group with weapons and their own comrades trussed up, they began to fire. Men dived behind rocks to take shelter. The bound men scrambled to take cover as well.

Both sides shouted at the other to disarm and end the fighting. Don Alejandro whispered to Ignacio that his people should remain in hiding until the contest was decided and he left the man, making his way through the rocks. Alejandro badly needed to retrieve his saber and pistol. Even a rifle would be helpful.

Ignacio spoke with his handful of men. They knew if Don Alejandro and his men were defeated, that they themselves would probably be killed by the white racists. They decided to take matters into their own hands. One by one they fanned out among the rocks in order to encircle and pounce on their enemies. One bore the name of Coyote, another of Spotted Hawk, still another of Brown Crow and the one named "Ignacio" by the whites whose name among his people was Little Badger. Like their namesakes they would be at home among the rocks, grasses and trees. Like their namesakes they would be creatures of prey.

**************************

Sergeant Demetrio García López was not exactly sure what direction he was supposed to go in, but he followed Don Diego's instructions to the letter. It was one thing he was good at doing, besides drinking wine. The trail was not as difficult as he had supposed for there were a good many horse prints to follow. He decided that the trail with the most hoof prints would be the one to follow and it did not take him much time to find a trail that must have been travelled recently by several groups of men, for the dirt and stones revealed the passing of many.

The afternoon had begun to fade and García became a little uneasy. Nights were a time of strange animals, weird sounds, and perhaps even spirits or demons. Most likely, it was just the strangeness of the land, its unfamiliar rock formations, and a strong wind that began to blow. It would be a long time before they could get back to town. The horses were tiring like he himself. Then he heard it - a sound like shots in the distance.

"Rifle shots, pistol shots," Corporal Reyes said, pointing ahead. He gripped the pistol in its saddle holster and looked over at the sergeant he rode abreast with.

García nodded. He turned in the saddle, facing his men behind him. "Lancers!" he shouted. "We ride into battle!" The sergeant spurred his mount forward and his men followed in his wake.

*****************************

Far from the scene of battle, a man in black made his way through the rocks and saw before him a small cavernal entrance. Just a few yards ahead of him, Juan was helping one of his brothers who had been wounded by the vaquero Pablo. Next to them lay the burden they had traveled so far with.

The Fox called out, "Friend Juan, it is I, El Zorro, come to help you."

Juan looked up. "El Zorro. Brother. It is good you are here."

"I see that your brothers have been hurt. May I be of assistance?" the man in black asked.

"I will need your strength to help me with the capitán," answered Juan. "He is the one in need of assistance the most."

El Zorro knelt by the small man that he knew as a comandante, a capitán, a prince, a general, a musician, a man of many talents, and a friend. He was pale, but he opened his eyes and looked about him. He did not recognize anything, but he did recognize the masked man.

"EL Zorro?" asked Francisco de las Fuentes. "Do we meet again?"

"Yes, Comandante, we do indeed," replied the other.

The officer looked about him. "It seems I have dreamed and traveled a great deal in my dreams," he said in a distracted manner. He groped for the gloved hand of the man in black. "I have seen death," he told him. "He follows me at a distance."

"Do not worry, Comandante," El Zorro told him. "I am keeping death at bay - and so are our friends who have brought you to a sacred place."

Francisco wondered what he meant by that but he still felt the affects of the herbal medications he had been administered throughout the long trip. "I am fading once again, my friend," he whispered.

The man in black put his arms under the small man wrapped in a blanket and carried him in his arms. The Indian, Juan, was waiting for him, supporting one of his wounded brothers. Another native, also unwounded, carried the other injured man.

"Come quickly, Brother Zorro," Juan told him, "for the sun is leaving the Earth and soon the Moon shall rise." They made their way into a small cavern. The entrance was so small that the tall masked man had to almost kneel to get in. Once inside, the two Indians paused and released their burdens. El Zorro watched as they moved boulders aside to help block the entrance. No white man would follow them inside.

Juan then gave several shrill whistles into hollows that opened before him. He called again. The call was returned. He smiled in satisfaction. It was a short while before torchlights began to appear. Several native Californian men came forward and helped the two wounded men. Juan spoke with them and they nodded. He gestured for El Zorro to follow him. As they made their way along a narrow tunnel, he whispered. "We are now going to the sacred place, a place no white man has ever seen before. I do not know whether you will be allowed to return."

*************************

By the time Sergeant García and his men arrived with pistols and lances at the ready, Don Alejandro had already taken control of the situation. With the help of the natives, he had all of Cisneros' men disarmed. Don Alejandro was, once again, impressed with the intelligence and initiative of the Indians who had used stealth to come upon their enemies from behind and leap upon them. One by one, twelve men were disarmed and, even a few disabled. The rest were held prisoner by his men and there had only been one casualty. Lucky for him, Dr. Aguilera had joined Don Alejandro's group and was there to minister to the needs of the wounded.

When things had settled down a bit, the don began to look around for his son. He found the musician, César Rodríguez, talking animatedly with his friends. "César," he began "have you seen my son, Diego?"

César answered, "No, Alejandro, I have not. I thought he was with us earlier, but when I looked about me, he was gone. I thought he had left with the other group of men."

Alejandro took the other's arm and pulled him aside. "I am worried, César, because the men who attacked us are the first group of Cisneros' men. Our men - with Diego - must have met up with them at some point. The fact that they are not here now has me greatly worried."

César nodded. For once his optimism was dampened, but he would not let it show. "I am sure that Diego is fine," he told his friend. "Perhaps our men did not run in to Cisneros at all. It is not easy to track men in such circumstances. I will ask if anyone has seen them."

"Perhaps it is significant that I do not see Señor Cisneros either," added Alejandro. "He is a man of violence. If Diego has tried to defend our Indian friends, I am sure that Cisneros would not be a man to give him much mercy."

César shook his head. "Alejandro," he pointed out, "men like Cisneros are ultimately cowards. They love to hate other men because of the differences they cannot understand or do not want to understand. They talk big, but when it comes to seeing an opponent as a human being, they flee the reality. I find so many things that bring men together, even men of great political or cultural differences. That something is music."

"I have always admired your positive view of life, César," Alejandro told him, "but when men are filled with hate and a lust for vengeance, then it blinds them to all but what consumes them. Only when the passions have passed and they become rational again, is it possible to reflect and ask ourselves was the price worth the misery we visited upon others - and will it come back to haunt us?"

*************************

Francisco de las Fuentes opened his eyes and found himself in a dark place. He thought he glimpsed stars in the distance and heard strange noises. It was the sound of flowing waters that he heard, first in his dreams, and then now. He thought that he was in a river for he felt the flow of water all around him. But the waters were warm and comforting. He felt mildly euphoric, most certainly safe, at least for the present. He did not sense death close on his trail while in the flowing waters. But death was a fickle companion and did not want to give up its prey.

The dream seemed like it lasted a long time and he was confounded by what the meaning of his dreams were. In the flowing waters, he at first thought he was drowning, but his head was not under water, he breathed air and heard the lapping of gentle waves. He closed his eyes and felt his imagination run wild: he must have been held up, he thought, by dolphins, just like in his dreams. But when he opened his eyes, there were naked women with long black hair holding him in the waters. A young one smiled at him but there was nothing lustful in her eyes, only a kind of curiosity and recognition of the fact that he had opened his eyes. He stared a moment at her body and closed his eyes thinking how strange dreams could be - both frightening as well as pleasant. Later, it seemed, there was a campfire where he was surrounded by Indian men. An old man with long, gray hair, watched him closely and held something up to his lips. It was then he realized his leg was burning. He tried to look for it, but was soon distracted by hands at his temples, moving across his face, down his neck and back to his shoulders. He looked into the dark eyes and thought that the old man could read his thoughts. The world faded again from his view and he slept again.

El Zorro stood in the shadows and listened as Juan explained to him what was happening. He told the masked man that the shaman was very powerful: he could heal the sick and cause the bad spirits to leave the body of the afflicted. The shaman journeyed to the land of the spirits and returned with knowledge to understand many worlds and the world of men.

"How does he travel to the land of the spirits?" asked the man in black. "He must be very brave to do so."

"We are in the land of the spirits," explained Juan. "But the shaman must travel further than we. He must enter the Earth and speak with spirits. Sometimes he only listens, but each time he learns new knowledge. Then he returns."

"Has anyone gone with him?" asked the Fox.

"He enters the Earth alone, sometimes through openings found in the ground, sometimes through holes he must dig deep into the Earth. He may encounter good or bad spirits, but his own courage is what defeats the bad ones and learns from the good ones. Sometimes he will send someone to also enter the land of spirits so they may learn from the spirits as well."

And there was the sound of sing-song chants in the cave. They were the chants of men, for the spirits of men are different from the spirits for women. When a man was sick, then the men sang to their spirits to help the man. Sometimes the chants were spoken words; sometimes they seemed like the humming of bees; sometimes they were accompanied by the beat of drums or the methodical shake of sacred rattles. This went on for many hours. El Zorro watched and slept, then watched again as time moved on.

There was silence. Then he heard a voice. It was clear and El Zorro recognized it at once. It was a deep baritone and it said:

> > " In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters."

Francisco de las Fuentes looked about him in the dark. He saw the flicker of firelight, felt both the hot and cold in his body. He moved his hand to the rough floor beneath him and lifted some dirt in his hand. He looked at it and continued, "And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul."

He did not know where he was or who these people were, but it seemed to him that he had traveled to the beginning of time, a time he only knew as Eden where men and women lived as he saw them before him.

The cave and its dwellers were silent for a moment. Only the crackling of the burning fires was heard. The chants had stopped. Then the old man with long gray hair who had knelt over him and administered herbs moved close to him. In accented Spanish he began to speak and his words seemed an answer to the man who had just spoken:

> > "In the beginning," the old man intoned, "Coyote began the creation of the Earth, but the Great Eagle completed it. After Coyote had completed making the world, he began to think about creating Man. He called a council of all the animals. The animals sat in a circle, just as the Indians do, with Mountain Lion at the head. The council was held in an open space in the forest. On Mountain Lion's right was Grizzly Bear, then Cinnamon Bear, Black Bear, Deer, Wolf, and finally down in size to mouse. Mouse sat next to Mountain Lion in the completed circle.
>> 
>> Mountain Lion spoke first. He said he wished man to have a terrible voice like himself so he could frighten all the animals. He wanted man to be covered in fur, with fangs, claws and very strong teeth.
>> 
>> Grizzly Bear laughed. He said it was ridiculous for anyone to have a voice like Mountain Lion because if he roared he would frighten away all the animals he would need for food. Then Grizzly Bear said man would have great strength like a bear; that he should move silently, but very swiftly, and he should be able to seize his prey without noise.
>> 
>> Buck deer said Man would look very foolish without antlers. Mountain Sheep said antlers would cause man bother because they would get caught in thickets. If man had rolled horns like a Mountain Sheep, it would give his head great weight to butt very hard.
>> 
>> All the animals argued about what man should look like and his characteristics. Finally, Coyote had his turn. He said that all the animals were very foolish because they each wanted Man to be just like themselves. Coyote was sure he could make Man look better. Man, said Coyote, would have to have four legs with five fingers; Man should have a strong voice, but he need not roar; Man should stand like Grizzly when he need to; Grizzly Bear had no tail and man should not have any. The ears and eyes of Buck Deer and Mountain Sheep were good and perhaps Man should have these. But they should not forget other animals. Fish had no hair and for some animals fur was a burden in the hot summers, so Coyote thought Man should have no fur. Finally, Man should have claws like Eagle, but not as long, so he could hold things in them. But, no animal was as cunning or crafty as Coyote, so man should have the wit of Coyote.
>> 
>> Beaver disagreed. He thought Man should have a long flat tail for hauling mud and sand to build a home. He agreed that Man should not have fur because of fleas. Owl said Man would be useless without wings. Mole said wings were foolish because Man would fly and hit the sky. If he had wings and eyes, the sun would burn them. Man needed to burrow in the soft Earth where it was cool and comfortable. Mouse disagreed. He said that man needed eyes to see what he was eating and who would want to burrow in the Earth all his life. With that, the council broke up in a great quarrel. Finally, each animal decided to create an image of Man out of his own ideas out of a lump of Earth. Most animals modeled Man on themselves.
>> 
>> It was late when all the animals finished their models. They went to sleep. That is, all but Coyote, who was the most clever of them all. Coyote stayed up all the night and worked until he finished his model. As the other animals slept, Coyote poured water over their models and spoiled them. In the morning he showed the animals his model and breathed life into it before they could finish theirs. Thus, Man was made by Coyote."

Francisco de las Fuentes closed his eyes again. He must truly be among peoples who were as far from the world he knew as the Moon was from the Earth. Once again he was overwhelmed by dreams - or were they dreams, he asked himself. The dolphins who became naked women were more comforting to him now and he seemed to have these visions many times. He wondered why they were not mermaids or sirens or witches, but instead, the eternal friends of sailors. His thoughts wandered a while, although he heard everything about him perfectly and smelled the grass mat upon which he lay and the scents of herbs rubbed into human skin of the people who surrounded him.

The nights turned into days and the days into nights. Or so it seemed to him. He lost track of time. The only thing he knew was that as time passed his leg hurt less. But he was still uncertain. Doctors once told him that men who seemed to be getting well often died just when everyone thought they had recovered. The waters flowed over him again and women dolphins held his head above the waves.

*************************

Don Alejandro had become very concerned. The next day, he and his men returned to the pueblo of Los Angeles, accompanying the soldiers who had placed Miguel Cisneros' men under arrest. Alejandro knew that the sergeant would not keep them in jail long. The only charge they could be held on was disorderly conduct and most of the men were not very inclined to keep their neighbors in jail for long. As a matter of fact, they were all let out the following day. Certainly, the issue of the kidnapped comandante had not been resolved and some of the men felt very bitter towards Don Alejandro and his allies. There was a tension among the people of Los Angeles that had not been felt in a very long time. Some wished intently for the return of Capitán Monastario. Anything would be better, some thought, than the uncertainty and anxiety that came when a community seemed divided against itself.

Sergeant García did his best to make the rounds and talk to people as if there were never any changes in routine, but the people of the pueblo were subdued.

In addition, Diego de la Vega had not returned. His father thought that he was with the group of men that had pursed Cisneros and his group north towards the mountains. It ended up that this group had lost the trail and had not encountered anyone. The furious men on horseback whom Cisneros had rerouted in order to pursue the group of Indians had headed south unopposed. No one seems to have remembered when or where the young man had gone missing. In addition, Miguel Cisneros and a friend, Pablo, had not returned at all. Pablo was a professional tracker. Cisneros and his men were dependent on him for finding the Indians' trail to begin with. It was rumored that the Indians had killed them, and perhaps young De la Vega with them. Alejandro de la Vega hotly disputed this claim, but he could not explain where his son might have disappeared.

Finally, César Rodríguez had to have a talk with Margarita Pérez. He told her that all the men of the pueblo had pursued the Indians who had taken Don Francisco with them. He could not answer her questions as to why they would take the comandante. He could only tell her that he thought that they meant him no harm. He had no evidence for his feelings, only that something told him that the comandante was not in danger from them.

Margarita found herself weeping in the middle of conversations or at the little chores she performed with the girls. Her friends and mother consoled her, but to small avail. She knew Francisco could not be dead because she had not felt it, she told them, but in her heart she feared the worst. She also confessed this to Padre Felipe who visited her and listened quietly as she declared that she would never give up hope; that he would return to her. She refused to see her father when he came to call. She told Ramona Rodríguez that she no longer had a father and therefore, there was no one to meet with. She often kissed the ring on her finger and held that hand close to her heart. It was several days before she finally consented to venture out with her friends, Ismaida and Juanita. By then she was feeling a little better. She began to play the piano and promised herself that she would be at her best when Francisco returned. Her playing could be heard out in the street.

Every time Salvador Muñoz walked by, he heard it and he seethed. The little witch thought she could avoid him by remaining in the Rodríguez household, he thought, but she could not stay there forever. As a matter of fact, when everyone finally realized that the comandante would never return to the pueblo alive, then she would again be vulnerable, and he would spring his trap.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 28](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante28.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	28. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-eight**

The man in black spoke in hushed tones with the Indian he knew as Juan. The dawn had broken a few hours earlier and light was beginning to fill the cavern. Already the calls of birds filled the air. Then he heard a deep baritone voice near the fire speak his name.

"El Zorro."

The Fox approached the fire as the Shaman rose and moved away. He knelt beside the small bearded man who had spoken his name and who was now wrapped in furs. "Capitán de las Fuentes?" he inquired.

"You are here," Francisco said in a tired voice. "I thought I recognized you or a voice similar to yours. I know that I am among the living - at least for the present."

"You are doing fine," El Zorro insisted. He took off one of his gauntlets and took the officer's hand in his own. "Feel my hand, Capitán. It will tell you are you are among friends." He nodded toward the opening in the cliff. "Look there, Comandante, and you will see that we are under a great ledge in the mountains. Through the mountains runs this natural spring which opens up into a marvel of nature before our eyes. See how we can see the sunlight and that an oasis stretches for miles inside this narrow valley. There are trees and flowers, birds and reeds, a restful and wondrous place."

The small man strained to see the view he heard described to him, but felt too detached to be an observer of such amazing sights for more than a moment. "Your hand is very cool to the touch," Francisco replied wearily, "which means I am burning up. I know I have a fever. It is not as bad as when I experienced the pox, but it has the smell of death nonetheless." He paused. "There are a number of things I have to tell you before I die and I can only tell them to a Christian. I only hope that I am lucid enough to speak for long. I feel so spent."

"You are not going to die, Comandante," the Fox insisted. "You are only experiencing the worst of your affliction right now. You feel tired because of the medicines that you are given. When men are sick, they often think dark thoughts."

Francisco reflected a moment on his words, but he was not convinced. "Will you do me the courtesy of hearing my confession? If I die, then my conscience will be clear. If not, well..."

What else could he say? "I am honored, Your Excellency, that you chose to confide in me. I will listen to your confession, Don Francisco, and just as quickly consign it to where it should go."

There was a long silence. Then the small man with the deep voice spoke softly but earnestly. The man in black knelt close by to hear the whispered words.

"El Zorro, I am not whom I seem to be at all. I am a fraud, a liar, and have misrepresented myself to all the good people I have known since coming to the Américas, especially to those here in California."

"Your Excellency, I do not believe this," El Zorro replied. "You are a truthful and honorable man. Surely, your conduct at the trials and your humanity towards the prisoners and even the fugitive, Enríquez, are proof enough of your credentials."

"Listen to my tale," Francisco told him, "and then decide whether your esteem for me is at all deserved."

*********************

Pilar Montoya, the gypsy curadora, traveled to the pueblo of Los Angeles on horseback. She heard from her granddaughter, Marya, that the strange man, Joaquín Enríquez, was back in town. It was several hours ride from her cabin in the mountains to the north of Los Angeles down into the valley where the settlement lay, but Pilar felt an unspoken urgency to make the journey. She needed to advise him to leave Los Angeles and never to return - for his own sake as well as for the sake of the dead.

The sky was still light as she reached the outskirts of the pueblo. Not everyone would welcome her appearance, for many regarded the gray-haired gypsy woman as an undesirable reminder of old superstitions and a challenge to traditional authority in the form of the church, the military, and modern medicine. A few had even called her a witch, but not that Pilar minded. She respected the ancient teachers who kept the old knowledge of healing alive and understood the web of life that touched and intertwined all living beings - even those long departed the Earth.

She made camp outside of town and wrapped herself in a wool blanket around the fire. She tied the horse to a tree and drank some tea. She felt his presence long before he arrived at her side. As he made his way toward her, she reached out her hand and said in a calm voice, "Come to me, Joaquín." She heard the snap of a twig and in a few moments he kneeled at her side.

"Your eyes are closed, but still you see me," he said softly. "Just the way you did years ago."

"You are in trouble again?" Pilar asked calmly. "You should not come back to this place, although you know that you must purge your demons. Only then will you find peace."

Joaquín Enríquez was quiet a spell, gazing into the crackling fire. "How did you know I was back?"

She smiled. "How can I not know when Capitán Monastario had you jailed and whipped just a week ago? Some say you have 'borrowed' a few items they obtained through the auction of your possessions many years ago."

"Marya, your daughter, was in town then," the man with the large teeth smiled. "She is your best eyes and ears."

"But what is this news now, that you are trying to find this lost comandante?" Pilar continued. "I feel the air cleared without his presence, even at this distance from the pueblo."

Enríquez pulled a piece of dried grass out of a pocket and began to pick his teeth with it. After a while, he tossed it into the flame and watched as it melted in a small glow of orange. "Monastario left town a week ago," he told her. "There is a new comandante in charge until his return. He's a decent sort." The man with tosseled black hair paused. "He is the one who is missing." Then Joaquín laughed, a short, ironic sound. "He was chasing me after I escaped, but I always managed to give him the slip. This time, though, he needs help, not me."

"Tell me about this comandante," the gypsy requested. "It is not often you lift your hand to help another, especially an official."

Joaquín acknowledged this fact with a nod. "Let me tell you about him and the hearing he conducted when I was a prisoner," he began.

The fire was dying down when he finished his story and Joaquín rose to gather more firewood to keep the hungry flames satiated until dawn. He left the gypsy contemplating his words. When he returned with some old wood, he placed the branches criss-cross on the fire. The fugitive then returned to his place near the woman and listened to her words.

"I am sure that those who call themselves the People of the Valley have taken him to their secret place," Pilar told him. "I know them well. They are peaceful but their numbers are greatly diminished as a result of colonial rule. Many have been embittered by their misfortune. This capitán must be exceptional for them to be so determined to save his life."

Enríquez offered her an apple out of his pocket which she accepted without words. "They also say he's quite musical," he commented. "He's courting Señorita Margarita Pérez and has won her heart."

Pilar raised her eyebrows at that. "The little dear who refuses to marry?" she asked in amusement. "Well, perhaps he is a good man." She gathered the blanket around her and closed her eyes. "I will leave at dawn for the eastern mountains," she told him.

Joaquín Enríquez settled in closer to the fire himself. He watched the glowing embers and listened to the crackling and sizzling of the branches for some time. Then, he too, closed his eyes until the dark skies began to lighten and the sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the fading pink clouds in its golden rays.

********************

Don Alejandro de la Vega was more than just concerned about his missing son. He began to question everyone who participated in the expedition to the East, friend and foe alike. At the end of the day he began to feel discouraged by the lack of information. More importantly, he discovered that two other men, men whose actions spoke of violence and intolerance – Pedro Castañeda and Miguel Cisneros - were still missing. Diego could not have fallen into worse company, Alejandro thought.

It seemed that a first course of action would be simply to wait for his son’s return, but that did not suit Alejandro who was more inclined to be a man of action, rather than one who passively submitted to time’s slow passage. Still, Alejandro was not one to panic. He examined all possibilities, all scenarios. He asked the Indians servants if they would inquire among their people as well.

Finally, Alejandro decided that he would send Diego’s faithful servant, Bernardo, back to the area where his son was last seen. Bernardo was given instructions that he should wait no longer than another day, then, return. If within that time, there was no sign of Diego, the don would organize a group of men to search for the young man. There would be no lack of volunteers from among the vaqueros and rancheros. Alejandro would lead the search himself.

And so, Bernardo prepared to ride. The don gave orders that the servants prepare a generous pouch of food and drink. Bernardo would take a spare horse with him in case Diego had been thrown or hurt. He was given two pistols and a sword. In case of an emergency, he was given a small bag of herbs and clean cloths. With these supplies, the mozo departed. Alejandro thought that the mozo did not appear too worried or anxious as he rode away. Perhaps he does not understand the implications of how long Diego had been gone, thought the don.

Bernardo rode away from the two-storied hacienda with its tree-shaded patio early the next morning. Although he appeared calm and composed, the mute man began to feel some anxiety himself. He knew that Diego could be delayed by the journey to the Indian lands and in discovering the condition of the comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes. He had listened intently to the descriptions of Cisneros and Castañeda and had witnessed their behavior himself. He was certain that El Zorro would have no difficulty in dealing with such men.

As the morning wore on and the servant proceeded along the paths whose steps were known only to the Indians, to El Zorro and from his instructions, Bernardo began to wonder if there would be a time when his young master might not be so successful: wounded, held by the Indians in their secret places, or even…..no, he would no think of that. Although Bernardo had his doubts at time, he ultimately had a great deal of confidence in El Zorro’s resilience, ingenuity, and instinct for survival and success. In this case, it would most likely be a matter of time before the Fox appeared, but timing was always critical in being able to maintain his dual identity.

Nightfall would be welcome. He would build a fire that could be seen for leagues. In the day, the smoke could be seen even further. He would use many devices to locate the man in black and, if necessary, allow El Zorro to locate him.

**********************

In the cavern carved in the side of a mountain, a man in black knelt next to a small, pockmarked man on a grass matt. The man on the matt was wrapped in furs and there were the beads of perspiration on his forehead. He spoke softly, but earnestly, in his deep baritone. It seemed as if the entire world was listening and he felt the shame of his revelations.

With a mournful cast to his features, the comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles continued: "Further, I did nothing to help the cause of Spain while in Peru. I was spiteful and spoke in riddles and muddled all my knowledge of military matters so I would be of no help to anyone. I did this because it was my form of revenge against His Majesty who had so aggrieved me. I am certain this cost many lives. I consorted with black witches and was punished or cursed by dark spirits who sent three assassins to end my life. I cheated death only temporarily, and now find myself I know not where. There is more."

The Fox understood the prince's dilemma and the weight on his shoulders. "Men have done worse, Your Excellency. What is more important is my question to you. Have you ever lied to the Señorita Pérez, Don Francisco?" he asked.

"No, never," Francisco declared in a voice filled with conviction, belying his weakened state, "for she has brought meaning back into my life. I am convinced that both of us have found the balance we have sought in our lives…that we can share together." His voice became almost inaudible. "I have fallen in love with her…and I fear that I shall never see her dear face again."

El Zorro saw the glistening of tears in the man's eyes and was deeply moved. "Your Excellency, I must now confess something to you," El Zorro told him gently. "Before I came here, I visited the Señorita Margarita. I assured her that I would do my best to find you, which I have done. I also swore that I would grant her wish for you - and that was to make sure that nothing happened to you that would prevent your return to her. I fully intend to keep my promise."

Francisco de las Fuentes nodded. His emotion was too deep for him to express any further words. He closed his eyes again.

The gray-haired shaman moved knelt by him. He had heard everything. "It is time for him to sleep again," he told the man in black. "Soon he shall see the woman he loves and travel with her to the land of skies and dreams."

El Zorro nodded and rose. He rejoined Juan who motioned him to follow along the stones which crossed the stream and lead to a great opening in the cavern. As he stepped into the daylight he saw the immensity of the place within the high mountain walls that surrounded the valley. The small Indian led him along paths, around rocks, past bubbling ponds and into an area of flowing streams, reeds, marshes and trees on firm ground. He turned and looked back at where he had come from and marveled at this wonder of nature.

Cut deep in the side of the mountains was a cavern that must have measured a hundred meters in length. The height of the cavern varied. In its narrow lower depths were passages carved by flowing water. In the upper reaches where men had found refuge from the elements, the ceiling could reach a height of 10 or 15 meters. Within this ancient place flowed a narrow stream warmed by the forces far below the surface of the earth that in earlier times had spit forth fire and molten rock. The stream flowed out of the face of the rocks, widening and tumbling gently into the flowing landscape. Not far from the flowing river were eddies and steams leading to other pools where the temperatures could scald a man. Human ingenuity had led the peoples of this area to create pools where the hot waters joined the cooler ones of the stream to create a kind of spa and these were the sites of many rituals depending on the signs from the spirits.

The eyes of the man in black scanned the high walls of the cliffs, the tumbling rock formations and the landscape that led to lakes of green and blue. He turned to his companion. "I can see why your people consider this such a sacred refuge, Señor Juan. It is a place of rare beauty. You are right to want to keep it a secret."

Juan knelt on his haunches beside the flowing rocky stream and watched the light play upon the surface. Then he looked up at the tall white man dressed in black. "There is a meeting of our people soon, El Zorro," he told the masked man. "At this meeting every man and woman will discuss if we should allow you to return to your people." He paused. "We are not concerned about the capitán. He was asleep with the Shaman's medicines while on the journey here and does not know how to find this place. But with you it is a different matter. You followed us, like Coyote, and found us."

"I hoped to assist you with the capitán and to make sure that the Bad Ones did not kill you before you reached your destination," El Zorro told him. "Like you, I do not want the other whites to know of this place. I will do my best to prevent them from ever knowing."

"These are the words I will speak at our council, for I know them to be true. But my voice is only one voice and all men and women will speak before the morning is out. My people will decide as a whole what will be done with you."

"What about the man, Cisneros, what will you do with him?" asked Zorro.

"When it was dark, my people took him to another place. He was prevented from seeing where he was or knowing how far he traveled," the Indian told him. "Such a man could never enter our sacred place. He was tended to, being bruised and cut from your fight." Juan paused. "It is our way, although we know him to be the leader of the Bad Ones."

"I think your people are very wise and compassionate," the Fox said. "And what of the other man, Señor Castañeda, who tracked you here?"

"When my people approached him, he fled through some bushes in the dark, not knowing his steps led him over a cliff. We only this morning retrieved his body."

The man in black was silent a moment, thinking how he would need to explain this incident back in town. Then he turned to a more immediate matter. "Señor Juan, am I allowed to speak at the council of your people? I would also like to express my gratitude for the care you are giving to the capitán."

"No, my Brother," replied Juan. "No outsiders are allowed to speak or attend." Then he gave a small smile. "Do not fear any decision of my people. We will find a path that is just." With that he left the man in black to contemplate what the next few hours would bring and what he would need to do in order to re-appear in good time at home and in the pueblo of Los Angeles.

**************************

The Indian Shaman squatted at the side of the sick man. It was important for him to reveal to his people why he thought it would be good to save the life of this white man. He had come upon the revelation in a dream. The dream occurred on his trip to the Land of the Spirits, below the Earth. The Spirits had spoken to him. They told him to question the white man in the presence of all his people and have them hear for themselves why he was like one of them, though very different. The Shaman thought long and carefully about what the spirits had said. He believed that they wanted to know, as he did, the answer the white man would give to a very special question. It would determine his future and theirs, the spirits declared.

Invoking the name of the spirits of the underworld and explaining his trip there, he told the assembled men and women that he had been instructed to ask the white man, the capitán, a special question. The answer itself would be an answer to the decision they would have to make. The Shaman then signaled his assistants.

The slow steady beat of a drum began to resound in the cavern. It was strong, monotonous, and unvaried. Two assistants began to shake sacred rattles. Both drum and rattles created a complementary and powerful mood in the cavern. The beating continued for at least ten minutes as the gray-haired man closed his eyes and swayed trance-like over the white man. When the drums and rattles ceased their beat, the eyes of the old man opened wide. He looked up as if at unseen spirits and then down to his patient.

From the shadows, El Zorro watched the ritual, feeling both the power and the honor done him by being allowed to watch the process. He saw the healer lower himself toward the stone floor.

Kneeling at the side of the man who was no taller than he himself, the Shaman put his hand on the forehead of Francisco de las Fuentes. "Man of the Sacred Waters," he intoned. "Heed my voice and open your eyes." He repeated the instructions until the light-blue eyes of the man wrapped in animal furs opened.

Francisco heard a man's voice in heavily accented Spanish calling to him as if from another reality. He vaguely recognized the Shaman. He became aware that others stood nearby.

"Man of Sacred Waters," repeated the Shaman. "The spirits command you to speak to us. Answer so that all may hear you."

"What is the question?" asked Francisco in a voice barely above a whisper, concentrating on the words as best he could.

"The spirits wish to hear your voice. Tell them what is the most sacred thing in your life - above all else - that guides you and inspires you." The Shaman looked up at his people as he intoned. "So that my people must know, too, why you, an outsider, have been brought here to this sacred place."

Francisco thought a while. He realized in some way that what he said would make a difference and decided to speak from his heart. "God forgive me," he said at last, "but the one thing that has meant more to me than anything else in all this world, that inspires me, that directs my life in all its dimensions, is Music. It…"

The Shaman put a finger to the man's lips to stop the flow of words and looked up the members of the tribe. There was a murmuring among those assembled upon hearing these words, even as others translated the meaning. "Music is a spiritual expression that unites all men as one," commented the old man. "It bring us together with all our brothers who sing - Coyote, Wolf, the birds, the frogs, the bees, the crickets, many brothers. He who loves music and makes music is our brother."

"It is as I said," Blue Feather added. "This is the one who gave me justice and has El Zorro for a friend. He is not hungry for slaves or gold or power over our people. He is like our sacred white deer. He has the spirit of his namesake."

"It is true," said the voices of many in agreement. "He does not speak in the fashion of the White Man. His words speak from another power." Not one voice dissented from the comments of the Shaman or Blue Feather, although all were encouraged to do so. Then came the other matter, one even more important to their security and to the future of the Fox.

Blue Feather escorted the man in black towards the mouth of the cave, the sunlight, and the sounds of the brothers of the people of the Earth who lived beyond the cavern. They stepped over stones across the rushing waters and it was there that Blue Feather left him and returned to his people. Inside, the debate began.

"And should the one named El Zorro be allowed to leave, knowing as he does, the hidden paths here?" asked a woman. "If the whites were to know of this place, they would destroy it or claim it for themselves alone."

There were murmurings of assent to her words.

Others began to argue against El Zorro being allowed to leave at all. A man insisted that other whites would come and search for him. This would endanger them all since the whites might accidentally discover their sacred place. It would be best to trust his silence. Still others wondered what would become of him if he were never allowed to leave. How would he live with them? Would he try to escape?

"How could El Zorro continue to do justice for our people if he were never to return?" argued Blue Feather.

Many other voices were heard and the discussions continued.

"I would like to be allowed to speak," declared a new voice. All in attendance turned to face the speaker. It was a woman with graying hair. "It is my doing that El Zorro came to know this place."

Instantly, the cave became silent. Only the crackling of fire was heard. Men and women looked at each other in surprise and some in shock.

"Did you betray our sacred place?" asked the Shaman sternly.

"No," answered the woman, known to the whites as Señora Ávila. "I know El Zorro to be a man who can be trusted to keep his word. It was important that he know about the capitán so he could stop the Bad Ones from harming our people any further. It is likewise important that he be released so that he may return to his people and let them know the comandante is being cured. The words of El Zorro will stop the Bad Ones from lying to the other whites and gathering them in a force to attack our people."

The Shaman gazed into the fire. Its embers glowed, the flames flickered in different colors. Finally he spoke. "Each one must have their say on this matter before us. Then we shall decide the fate of both. Our decision must be for the good of all, including the strangers."

It was noon before the vote was taken. The Shaman continued to administer his medicines to the Man of the Sacred Waters and Blue Feather walked quietly over stones and mosses in search of the man in black in order to tell him of the decision of the council of his peoples.

************************

El Zorro got a surprise as he was escorted out to the entrance of the cave by Blue Feather, the man he knew as Señor Juan. The rocks blocking the entrance had been removed but that was not the cause of the unexpected. Ahead of him and coming toward him from the cavern opening was a dark Spanish woman with gray hair. She wore long earrings and dressed with colorful, multilayered skirts. She was the gypsy curadora who lived in the mountains to the northwest of Los Angeles. She was the only outsider who could have known of this place, he thought, because the Indians revered her and the magic she practiced on their behalf on many occasions. She would be accepted among them.

"Señora Montoya!" he exclaimed.

Pilar Montoya nodded in recognition. "Señor Zorro," she smiled. "I have come as Señor Enríquez promised you."

"I don't think I understand," the young man responded. "Señor Enríquez did not tell me he was sending you to me."

The gypsy woman was pensive a moment. "Hmm," she replied, "Often, Joaquín never explains his motives, but he is sincere." She clutched at a bag she carried.

The tall man in black was still puzzled. "Did Joaquín send you to save the comandante's life?" he asked.

"His life?" she asked in curiosity. "Oh, no, young man. Gray Feather, the Shaman, is a great healer in whom I have the highest confidence. He will make the comandante's leg as good as new. No, the capitán does not need my help in that regard."

"If you will permit me to ask you," El Zorro continued politely, "in what capacity do you come to help Capitán de las Fuentes?"

Pilar looked very wise. "There are illnesses that are not just of the body," she explained. "Joaquín told me that the capitán is convinced that he is cursed by witches." She paused. "I am here to cast off all the evil spells and convince the comandante that he no longer has anything to fear from spirits. His enemies may be strong, but my medicine and that of Gray Feather will put an end to their curses and to his disquiet."

"That sounds like the best kind of medicine he can get, Señora Montoya," replied the Fox. "Before you see him, though, I would like to impart to you some knowledge about him, something that must be held in the strictest confidence. Only by knowing this, will you be able to convince him that the curses are gone forever. You see, Capitán de las Fuentes is not just one of your ordinary patients…"

***********************

Bernardo was waiting for him at the crossroads. He had come back twice to this spot because it was where the doctor and others had claimed to have seen young Diego last. He was becoming more apprehensive as the day wore on. Don Diego had been missing for almost two days and it was with great relief that he saw a man in black approach him.

El Zorro waved in greeting as he spotted the mozo in brown waiting with Tornado. El Zorro rode the brown horse of Don Diego. Behind him trailed Dr. Aguilera's mount on a tether.

"Thank heaven you waited for me," the Fox told his faithful servant. "I wasn't sure whether you would find the note on my dresser to tell you where to come to meet me. And speaking of home - I am sure that Father is worried because I have 'disappeared' for some time now."

The mozo nodded vigorously and raised his hands in question.

"Where have I been?" the man in black laughed. "It's a long story with much to explain. To tell you the truth, I was not quite sure I was going to be allowed to come back after discovering the secret sacred lands of our Indian friends. It is indeed a special and wondrous place. It is very important that no whites ever discover this refuge."

Bernardo motioned with his hands, describing a small man with a bandoleer, beard, and upturned moustaches.

"The comandante?" El Zorro responded. "Capitán de las Fuentes is in the best hands possible. Between the gypsy healer and old Gray Feather, he will be as good as new in body and spirit. Won't that be a wonderful surprise for Margarita? I can hardly wait to give her the good news - as Zorro, of course!"

As the two men began to gallop along the trail, El Zorro, remarked. "I will tell my father that I was thrown from the horse and it took me many hours to recover her. I became lost in the unexplored terrain, not knowing which way to turn."

Bernardo kept nodding in agreement as he listened to a very plausible tale. He urged his master to keep up the story with a gesture.

The Fox grinned and continued. "Only when I saw the smoke from your fire, did I then realize that I was headed in the right direction." He paused once again. "In the meantime, I had stopped along the way, gathering cactus leaves, pulling the spines from them, then consuming them for food and for the water within." He pointed at a pouch. "Here are the gathered cactus, partially consumed."

Bernardo indicated with many gestures that he wished to know if this were indeed the case.

"No, Bernardo," El Zorro laughed. "For the last twenty-four hours I dined on cooked rabbit and fish from the stream. There were herbs, nuts, and seeds - a very nice banquet."

**************************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 29](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante29.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	29. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Twenty-nine**

He dreamed of dolphins again and awoke this time in a warm pond. The waters flowed around him, but gently, not in the torrent he had experienced before. He felt himself supported under the arms and expected to see the naked women again. This time, he opened his eyes slowly and saw that his companions were dark-brown men with long, black hair. After a while, the two men hoisted him and carried him over the rocks and back towards the cave. He was wrapped in the furs again because the cave interior was much cooler than the warm waters he experienced. The fur he was encased in reminded him of the bearskin rug in his grandfather's home. When he was a boy, he had once wrapped the warm and comforting skin around him. It had been on a cold winter's day and he sat on the ledge of a high window of the palace and looked out at the snow that fell in the surrounding forests. He watched the tame deer that wandered among the gardens below. The white flakes were large and fell slowly, blanketing the walks, roofs and trees. A great calm overcame him again and he dozed for a while.

The perfume of scented candles reached him and he opened his eyes again. In the flickering of a dozen lighted tapers, he saw a figure move out from the shadows. His blue eyes watched the apparition as it moved close to him. It seemed that he saw the figure of a vaguely Spanish looking woman above him with the rocky cavern walls behind her. He heard the swish of her skirts and knew she was not a native Californian.

The woman knelt next to him. He saw her more clearly now. She was a pleasant looking, graying woman with long earrings. Her head was partly covered by a bandanna. Her skirts were quite colorful, too, he observed. The expression on her face spoke of familiarity although he knew he had never met her before. She put a hand to his forehead, then slowly pulled back the furs and examined him. She spoke to a small group of Indians who squatted down with her to look at the patient of the Shaman. She leaned quite close to hear his whispered words - "Is my leg still there? They say when a limb is removed, it can still be felt as if intact."

"Do not worry, Señor," she told him. "Your leg is healing. Gray Feather and his people have given you powerful herbs and they have been cleansing your leg in the river and warm springs. They had to re-open the wound in order to clean out the infection, but it is healing quite nicely. Medicinal herbs were also put into the wound to fight the infection."

Francisco listened intently, then told her. "I have been very tired and it is hard to be awake for more than a little while."

"I understand," she replied. "I also have some medicine for you, but will speak to you about it tomorrow."

"Who are you, if I may ask?" the deep baritone queried.

"I am Señora Pilar Montoya. I am a curadora," she stated.

Francisco felt a sudden chill seize him and he tried to pull the fur around him tighter as if for protection. "The witch!" he exclaimed. For the second time during his long ordeal, he felt genuinely afraid. The remembrance of the conversation he had with the señoritas Rodríguez and Villa at the party in which they talked about the curadora came back to him. He felt quite vulnerable in his present state.

"I am not going to hurt you," she reassured him in a soft tone. "I am not a witch, but a healer. I do not believe in the Devil and his ways. I am a Gitana, a gypsy. I am from Spain, like you." When he still looked doubtful, she pulled out a cross from on a chain of beads around her neck. "Tell me, could a witch wear this and not be burned?" She watched as he nodded his agreement.

She took one of his hands in hers. Now he did not resist her. "Your hand is very fine," she commented, examining it closely. "I can tell that you are a fine gentleman. No rough calluses or broken fingernails." She moved her fingers across his palm and turned it over. "Oh, a musician's hand, too," she smiled.

"How do you know this?" asked Francisco, impressed as well as still a little uncertain.

"A musician's hands have different muscle development than most," she explained. "I can feel it."

De las Fuentes understood that at once. He had felt it in Margarita's hands as well when they first met. "I know the feel as well," he countered, still doubtful of her intentions.

The gypsy nodded. "It is not just the muscles of your hand," she continued. "I see many things in your palm - from the angle of harmony to the mounts of Neptune, Luna, and Venus. Your hands tell me much about you - about your past and what awaits you in the future."

"You can tell these things from my hands?" he asked with great curiosity. "I heard about gypsy fortune telling with palm reading, crystal balls, and tarot cards. For many at Court, it is a matter of seeing beyond the apparent; for others, it is mere superstition."

"And you think it mere superstition?" she asked.

"I believe there is much in the world that we cannot understand," he answered. "Perhaps those with gifts can see more deeply and provide insights into the unknown."

"Good," she declared, "then you will be receptive to my efforts to undo the harm done you by some curses of those who live in the shadows of power." She released his hand and reached for her pouch. She removed stones of various colors from a special leather bag. There were dried herbs and even incense.

"You know of this?" Francisco asked with astonishment.

"I know much about you and will learn even more - if you are willing for me to help you," Pilar informed him. "But you must be willing."

"I would be more willing if you could tell me more about what you know," he said cautiously. "I hope you will forgive me, but to place one's life in another's hands - one who is unknown - is much to ask."

"I will not ask you for the impossible," the gypsy responded, not stating the obvious that he had already put his life in the hands of the Shaman. She passed her hand over his eyes and touched his face with the tips of her fingers. "The pox caused you much pain, not so much in the malady itself, but what it cost you in someone you lost." She saw the pain in his eyes at her observation. He nodded again and she felt and saw the emotion in the tightening of his neck muscles.

Francisco swallowed with effort. "I have not been able to speak of this to anyone," he confessed. "I have known, deep in my heart, but would not admit it. Isabel turned away from me because of how my looks were ruined, even though I have never been a handsome man. At my darkest moments, I even doubted whether she loved me at all, perhaps just feigning her affections, so that she might marry above her station, even though it did not matter among us. I am sure that I have been punished by God for some sin - in sending the pox to me as punishment."

The gypsy studied him as he spoke and took his hand in hers again. "I do not feel a great sin in you," she told him. "Have you not considered the fact that God sent the pox to you so that you could see the falseness of the woman when you were blind to it because of your own honest sentiments towards her? Has not some good come from this revelation? Is there not another who sees not the outer shell, but the inner soul?"

The small man sighed deeply. "It is true," he whispered. "Tell me something more."

Pilar moved the fur coverlet from over his right leg. His wound was wrapped with leaves and herbs by Gray Feather again after it had dried and aired out. She gently touched the leg and moved her fingers over it as if they were feathers. "Your wound - the one you received far from here. There were men who set upon you with swords," she closed her eyes and intoned.

Francisco was astonished. "You know! How is this possible? Have you been sent to me as well?"

"Yes, I have," Pilar confirmed. "By one who knows you for the justice he received and who wishes to repay you; by a woman who loves you and wishes for your return; and by a third who also wishes to serve the noble sentiments you uphold by his own acts of justice. But, truths, like revelations, come in threes. There is a final truth that must be known: the power of a king was set against you, but is waning like a fire using up the fuel to feed it. You must heal in many ways - in the land of the spirits, know when to swim with the tide. Our bodies and souls need to be considered as one. You cannot heal one and not the other."

"I perceive the wisdom and truth of your words," De las Fuentes said in relief. "There is nothing that you have not told me that I know is not true. I seek the balance - not only in how I see the world and act in it, but within myself as well. I have been in discord, much discord. If you can help me, I will place myself in your hands with no reservations."

"Then let us begin," Pilar told him. She nodded to the gray-haired Shaman who had watched and listened to their exchange from a discreet and respectful distance. "Together the wisdom of Old Spain and that of Old California will release the demons that have haunted you until now."

******************

It was a good feeling to be back at the hacienda, Diego thought as he rode up with Bernardo to the gate that led to the inner patio.

"I will now hasten to my father and explain what happened," Diego told the mozo as he dismounted. With Tornado safely back in the secret box canyon, with his clothes appropriately dusty and a few leaves and torns sticking out for good effect, he walked inside to his father's study. There he found the white-bearded don pacing in front of the fireplace in the late afternoon.

"Diego, my son!," Alejandro exclaiming as the tall young man opened the door slowly and peered in as if uncertain of his welcome. The don was across the room in a few long strides and embraced the young man in a bear hug. "I had feared the worst for you, Diego," he explained. "Ah, look at you now," he continued, pulling a thorn out of his own sleeve. "Why don't you go upstairs and refresh yourself? There is nothing like a good, hot bath to restore the spirit and some fresh, clean clothes. You can tell me about what happened and where you have been for the last two days when you are feeling rested."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Father," Diego responded in a tired tone of voice. "I long for a hot bath. And food - I think I hallucinated about food - fried eggs, hot chocolate, beef cooked in red wine - not to mention sleeping in my own bed again. You simply won't believe the ordeal I have suffered."

Alejandro guided his son out of the library, down the hall, and out the door of the sala towards the steps that took him to his room. "Don't worry about a thing, son," he told the young man. "By the time you finish your bath and dress, there will be such a meal waiting for you, I promise. Then, we will talk."

After the don returned to the library, he poured himself another glass of wine and stood a moment contemplating it. He looked up to the portrait of himself and his wife that hung over the great stone fireplace and shook his head. "How soft the younger generation has become," he mused. "Even I spent nights out in the untamed meadows, wrapped in a rough wool blanket, building a fire and roasting a lizard or a rabbit I caught with snares. I slept with a rifle on my knees because of the wolves, coyotes or even bears that could menace a lone man in the wilderness." He laughed softly in spite of himself and threw out an extended arm to the books and works of art that surrounded him. "And I did it all in order to have all of you here and to have a son to spoil so he would not have to live like I did!"

***********************

The aroma of burning incense reached Francisco de las Fuentes as the Shaman passed his hands over his prone form many times. There seemed to be many ceremonies performed, from sucking demons from the area of his stomach, to the endless shaking of rattles. Then, there was a time of great expectation, he felt, in the sing-song chanting of the Indians. He told the gypsy and the Indian healer of his nightmares and of his dreams of the porpoises who held him above the waves; of the naked Indian maidens who seemed to be mermaids or dolphins. The Shaman explained that the porpoises were the personification of Francisco's "power-animal" of the sea. It was a good sign, since the animal was known as friend of men. It was this power animal, the old man insisted, that had protected him from the bear's attack and had guided him across the waters of the lake into the reeds for protection. Finally, the shaman invoked the spirits of healer helpers, danced, and blew the spirit of his guardian animal back into his chest and into the top rear of his head. It was an exhausting ordeal for the Shaman and Francisco felt the intensity of physical and mental powers he had never experienced before. Finally, he was asked to rise and perform a small dance himself, watching the steps of the Shaman and feeling as if he were in some kind of trance.

The days and nights once again seemed to blend into one and he was not sure of the passage of time. Francisco knew that he began to feel stronger and better. He watched more intently as the curadora placed crystal rocks about him, made herbal teas and tasty soups for him, burned candles and incense, uttering prayers both in Spanish as well as in her own language. She invoked the names of saints and angels, called upon the forces of nature to heal him and to rid him of all curses, hurling their black mirrors back upon those who had conjured them from the depths of the dark forces. In his dreams, she burned them out with the light of the sun and the rainbows that appeared in distant skies between dark rain clouds. And he walked with Margarita towards his home in Spain to the strains of Beethoven while dolphins splashed in the fountains of vast gardens with their tame deer.

It was then that the earthquake struck.

***********************

It had been several days since Don Diego de la Vega returned to his father's home. There was heartfelt relief and general celebrating of the reappearance of Don Alejandro's only son. It took only another day for the routine of life at the hacienda to resume its normal ebb and flow of routine and security. There were important tasks to be carried out, but Diego was careful to let all the pieces to fall back into place before he began to take care of some unresolved business of El Zorro back in town.

It was mid morning again when he and his faithful servant, Bernardo, mounted their horses and headed along the wide, dirt road into the pueblo of Los Angeles. The high, white clouds in the sky above looked like tattered, torn cotton strands and the early dawn was streaked with a carmine pink. The weather would begin to change again, perhaps bringing with it a storm from the Pacific north.

For Diego, it was his second trip into town that morning. The first had been conducted in secret and in the disguise of a man upon a black stallion, wearing a long black cape with a mask that obscured his features. His tasks did not take long, but they were at best incomplete. He needed more time to discover the developments that had occurred since his absence and what better way to discover them than to drop by the cuartel.

*****************

Margarita Pérez and her friends decided to do some shopping at the general store. There were all sorts of interesting wares to be found every time Señor Cárdenas returned from the port at San Pedro where Spanish ships laid over, bringing items from Spain and the southern colonies. There were new scents, clothing, items of silver or gold, like candlesticks or jewelry, pewter mugs, or even crystal glass for the more affluent. Sugar, grains, and finished leather products, pots and pans, boots and wine, lined the shelves. And, Margarita decided it was time to get out of the house and to at least assume the appearance of normalcy while she waited for word of her beloved Francisco.

Ramona Rodríguez explained that the girls could help out by buying some household goods for her. She presented her daughter, Ismaida, with a woven basket and gave wooden ones to Margarita and Juanita. "Bring me back a surprise," she smiled as she handed Ismaida some coins.

"Yes, Mama," the young woman replied and left with her two friends.

They must have spent a good hour chatting with their neighbors in the store, gazing at the carvings, shawls, and jewelry and wishing they had more than just a few coins to spend.

Margarita filled her basket first and headed out of the door, just ahead of her friends. She was wearing a green dress with short boots with fashionable heels. She smiled, thinking that the heels might make her the same height as Francisco.

Juanita and Ismaida came through the door. They saw their friend waiting for them at the edge of the wooden walkway.

"Let's go," Ismaida said brightly and all three began to walk across the plaza.

Suddenly the storekeeper appeared at the door. "Señorita Rodríguez," he called. "You forgot your change and a bag."

"Oh, my," Ismaida replied in surprise. She looked at her friends. "Will you help me with the bag, Juanita?" she asked. "Margarita has the heaviest load of all."

Juanita nodded amiably. She turned to Margarita. "We'll catch up with you." She indicated the young woman's heavy basket. "It will be less time for you to walk to Doña Ramona's."

Margarita thought nothing of it. "You'll catch up to me before I reach the well," she commented and turned away.

As the other two young women reached the door of the general store, Salvador Muñoz accosted the young woman who made her way across the plaza. He had watched the three young women emerge from the general store and decided to confront Margarita once she had been separated from her friends.

"Isn't it about time you accept reality, Margarita?" he called out to her.

Margarita halted and turned back towards the voice behind her. She saw Salvador approach her. He was wearing a long gray frock coat with his eternal silver waistcoat. On his head was a gray top hat, the latest fashion.

She thought she might ignore him by turning her back, but he was almost upon her now. She stood her ground and gave him a look of disdain. "On the contrary, isn't it about time you accepted reality, Señor Muñoz?" she shot back.

"Still as high and mighty as ever," he replied. "You should know by now that De las Fuentes is never coming back. He's either dead or thrown you over. Anyway you look at it, you will be an old maid. That is, if you continue to play your games."

"Francisco is not dead," she retorted. "If he were, the men of this pueblo would still not be out looking for him."

"They've already returned," Salvador insisted. "If the comandante were alive, he would be here now. But he's not." He almost rushed his next words. "Your father is willing to forgive you and so am I, but you had better do it now while you still have the chance."

*****************************

Dr. José Aguilera looked up in surprise as he came out of his office and turned down the side street. He did a double take. There was his horse tied to a post nearby. The saddle was clean, the horse was clean and she looked as she had never left the pueblo. As he examined the mare, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under the saddle blanket. Dr. Aguilera read it carefully and began to smile. The note informed him that Capitán de las Fuentes had been found and would be returning to the pueblo once he was well. The note was signed with a "Z." The doctor decided to report his find to the cuartel. Sergeant García would want to know the news if he did not know it already.

As he walked around the side of the cuartel, he saw Don Diego de la Vega chatting with the stout sergeant. Dr. Aguilera walked up and handed the note to the sergeant while he winked at the young don. "I have some good news for the sergeant," he said as way of inserting himself into their conversation.

"What good news is that?" asked Diego watching the sergeant read the note.

Sergeant García's eyes lighted up as he read the small piece of parchment. "This is excellent news!" he exclaimed. "The note says that Capitán de las Fuentes has been found and will be returning to our pueblo as soon as he is well. The Indians are healing him with the help of Señora Montoya, the curadora. It is signed 'Z'." The big man paused a minute and looked at the signature again "Z!" he repeated. "It is from El Zorro!"

"Apparently," deadpanned the doctor. "El Zorro also returned my mare to me. It must have just been this morning."

"Then you are the recipient of much good news this today," Diego smiled.

"As is your father," the other rejoined. "You cannot imagine how worried all of us were when you did not show up anywhere. What happened to…?" the doctor was distracted by a commotion from the other side of the well and broke off his conversation. Diego likewise listened a moment and began to frown as he overheard the heated words.

Two young people were having an angry exchange.

"Marry the likes of you?" Margarita asked Salvador with scorn. "You obviously don't understand Spanish. I will never marry you. Never. How many times must I repeat this?"

Salvador became angry, as he always did, when she acted the opposite of what he expected. "De las Fuentes is dead, dead, dead, and he's not coming back, ever. I offered you honorable marriage, and what did he do, just lead you on, and give you some sweet kisses to seduce you," he accused.

"That's a lie!" Margarita exclaimed in anger. She began to walk away, but Salvador continued to follow her.

"He's a fraud. He never went to any of those places he claimed. He's a braggart and dishonorable," Salvador continued.

"Go away, leave me alone," she commanded and kept walking. She was nearing a flower stand and began to focus on looking at the winter flowers on display. The merchant had brought chrysanthemum seeds from Mexico and grown the most cheerful colors of yellow, purple, gold, and red. Some were in earthen pots of different sizes. Margarita thought she might buy some because Francisco always gave compliments in terms of bright flowers and rainbows. Just looking at the flowers reminded her of his smile and the times she had sat with him in the churchyard, holding hands and....

Salvador grabbed one of her elbows. "You've been stood up," he told her. "He has a wife in Spain. He's misled you. Just look at how old he is and with all those pockmarks. He's just a cripple. It's a wonder that the Army hasn't retired him yet."

Margarita Pérez exploded at the insults. "Why, you lying scoundrel," she shouted. "Don't you say one more word against my Francisco!"

"'My Francisco'," he mocked her again. "Tell me, Margarita, just what have you done to defend him so? Is he your lover already?"

Margarita grabbed a potted plant and turned on her unsuspecting tormentor. "This is how much I'll defend his honor and mine!" she exclaimed and smashed the flowerpot against his head with all her might.

The flower merchant, who was looking embarrassed at their heated exchange, watched in amazement as the young man fell to the ground under the blow of the flower pot. He actually admired the young woman for standing up for herself and for the man he presumed to be the object of their disagreement, the comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles. It's true he just lost a pot, but it was worth the price to watch the drama unfold before his eyes, he chuckled to himself.

Salvador was stunned. He sat in the dirt among the clay pot fragments and scattered flower heads as he watched Margarita hand the merchant a coin for the broken pot. She swung herself defiantly away from the scene, carrying her heavy wooden basket. Salvador blazed in anger. He would show that little witch that she could not get away with beating him - and humiliating him again in public. He pulled a pistol from his belt, aimed it at her, and fired.

Margarita turned back just slightly when she heard the sound of a pistol being cocked. The shot caught her as she turned and she fell.

Ismaida and Juanita stepped off the porch of the general store. They were watching their friend's angry exchange with Salvador from a distance. The girls watched with open mouths when the hurled flowerpot knocked him off his feet. Both smiled at each other at first, but their smiles became looks of horror when they saw him draw a pistol from his belt, aim it at her and fire. The young women began to scream as they saw Muñoz lower his pistol. They continued screaming. Their shoes seemed nailed to the ground before they finally began to run toward Margarita's fallen form. Customers poured out of the store along with Señor Cárdenas to see what was wrong. People in the plaza began to look toward the girls and realized that something was wrong, dreadfully wrong.

Salvador Muñoz climbed to his feet, brushed off the seat of his pants and the dirt from his frock coat. He still held the pistol in his hand. He made his way over to the fallen girl. The heavy basket lay fallen at her side, its contents askew. Her left arm stretched out over her head. He seemed oblivious to the commotion around him. Then he noticed something odd. There was something gleaming by her outstretched hand. Salvador knelt by her hand and examined it. On her left finger was a ring of exquisite beauty. Even he was impressed. Then he realized what it was: an engagement ring. Such a ring could only have been given to her by one man - a man he could not yet prove was dead. Salvador began to panic. He looked up quickly and saw that the flower merchant was approaching him with a length of wood. The man was apprehensive but determined. He looked around; more men were running across the plaza towards him. Salvador pointed his now empty pistol at his adversaries and backed up. The way behind him was clear. He began to run.

Diego de la Vega arrived first at the scene of the shooting. He had reacted instantly at the sound of a pistol shot. What had happened took place in only a moment in time. He saw Salvador Muñoz run off. He immediately knelt over the inert form of his friend, Margarita Pérez, turned her over carefully, cradling her head. "Margarita, Margarita," he repeated over and over.

Margarita's eyelids fluttered. She looked around her in a daze. _She is in shock_ , thought Diego.

Ismaida and Juanita fell to their knees next to the girl, crying loudly, "He shot her, he shot her!" Juanita took one of Margarita's limp hands, moaning, "Margarita, oh, Margarita."

Dr. Aguilera gently moved the two girls out of the way. "Let me see where she has been shot," he insisted. He knelt down and with Diego's help began to examine her side.

Roberto Cárdenas, the storekeeper with the thick, brown moustache, helped Ismaida and Juanita to their feet. He put his arms around the two girls. The girls put their heads against his broad chest and cried. "Now girls, you just let Dr. Aguilera take care of Señorita Margarita," he consoled them.

Dr. Aguilera looked up at Diego after probing the torn clothing. "My friend, will you bring Margarita to my office. I will need to examine the wound there, not here." Blood had begun to spread across the young woman's skirt at the waist.

Diego de la Vega gently hoisted the girl in his arms and carried her inside the doctor's office. Ismaida and Juanita followed him almost stumbling in their shock. Several women bystanders from the plaza followed the trio inside in order to offer their help. The door of the doctor's office remained open until finally a passerby closed it.

The flower vender began to gather up Margarita's wooden basket and its spilled contents. A large crowd had gathered.

"What happened?" was the question on many lips as the crowd grew.

"Salvador Muñoz shot Señorita Pérez!" the vender exclaimed. "He was insulting her and the comandante. She bashed him over the head with a flowerpot. Then he pulled out his pistol and shot her. I saw it all," he declared. He pointed across the plaza. "He ran away, there, just now!"

Sergeant García was only steps ahead of the angry crowd that converged on the doorstep of the Muñoz home. He knocked on the door vigorously. When a servant responded and opened the door, the big man announced, "I am here to arrest Salvador Muñoz."

"Arrest him, arrest him!" shouted the crowd behind him.

Don Felix Muñoz arrived at the door with a guest, Sebastian Pérez. "My friends, what is this all about?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Don Felix, I regret to inform you that your son, Salvador, has just shot Señorita Margarita in the plaza of the pueblo," García told the stunned man. "I am here to arrest him."

Felix turned to his guest in horror, putting a hand on the other's arm. "My God, Sebastian! What has he done?"

Pérez's face was wooden. "What did she do to provoke him?" he asked.

Before anyone could respond, a saddled horse turned the corner from behind the house and raced past the crowd on the street. Astride was Salvador Muñoz. Many in the crowd saw him, turned, and shouted. "There he goes! There he goes!"

Felix pushed through the crowd. "Salvador, wait, come back!" he cried out. He reached the street just as his son's horse raced around the far side of the church and took the road out of town, avoiding the cuartel and its armed soldiers.

Sergeant García came up from behind him. He took the man's arm. "I am sorry, Don Felix. My men must now ride and arrest Salvador. Do you know where he might be heading?"

The gray-haired don almost sank to his knees, moaning. It took minutes before he composed himself and addressed the sergeant. "I do not know where he might have gone, Sergeant. I only know that I must find him."

Sebastian Pérez came up behind the merchant. "I will help you find him, Felix," he said. "After all, he is practically my son-in-law."

Sergeant García glared at Pérez. "The Army will find young Muñoz," he told the man with a rare authority he mustered. "Your business is at the side of your daughter. She could be dying." There were murmurs of assent from the crowd behind him.

Pérez reluctantly agreed to go to Dr. Aguilera's. "She's probably all right," he told the crowd that escorted him back to the plaza in disgust. "Dramatics are her specialty."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 30](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante30.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	30. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty**

Joaquín Enríquez watched the commotion that was unfolding in the plaza from a distance in the loft of the livery stables where he was hiding. It was the pistol shot that had drawn his attention. As swarms of people jammed the street to the Muñoz residence, he hastily made his way across the plaza and ducked inside the church to retrieve one last item, a silver calandera. The church had emptied out when the parishioners heard the uproar in the plaza. Padre Felipe departed in haste as well when he heard about the shooting. Enríquez took the candlestick from near the altar and placed it in a cloth bag. No one saw him enter or leave the chapel.

Enríquez changed his hiding places at night and did so based upon the security of the refuges. For two nights he stayed in the home of a merchant who was away on business. Another day he spent in the stable loft, hidden behind stacks of hay and near a board that he had loosened in nearby wall in case escape became imperative. Another time he slept on a balcony of the posada itself, outside an empty room. The noise from the tavern and chatting customers lounging in the streets in the evening entertained him for many hours. The following morning he made his way to the stable loft and ate some apples he secreted from the general store and munched the last of the bread he had "lifted" from the De la Vega kitchen.

Later that same afternoon he made his way into the home of the elderly Señor Portillo. The soldier that the comandante had assigned to guard the house only came at sundown and no one would expect a daytime entry into the house. The old man had not even noticed the bulge in the window drapes of the sala and had left the room with a book to sit out on the warm patio to read for a while. Enríquez made his way to the upstairs and easily found what he was looking for. He had been as silent as a moth, entering and departing the home as unnoticed as a shadow. With his last acquisition at the church, his collection was now complete except for the gold snuffbox of Don Alejandro de la Vega. Joaquín debated with himself whether it would be worth the trouble to try to retrieve it again. He would decide this on the morrow.

**********************

The earthquake was felt over the entire area and caused rockslides and sent shudders through stone and clay edifices. Days before the earthquake occurred, horses and domesticated animals seemed nervous and irritable. Dogs and cats shivered and sought the comfort of their masters.

Far away from the pueblo of Los Angeles, a small, bearded man in a cavern felt the quake as he lay on a grass mat and wondered what it all meant. The curadora had given him a tea that had tasted strangely like a pleasant mint which had calmed his nerves.

Earlier that day, she had surrounded him with more burning candles, sprinkled flower petals within the circle. There were fragrant twigs and the scented oils the Shaman and his assistant rubbed into his skin. As they did so, they murmured strange words which Francisco took for prayers to heathen gods or spirits. Within the circle were colored stones, a few of which he thought he recognized. The curadora told him about how she stopped bleeding with rosemary and pulverized oak bark cream made by stirring them into boiling water. After the solution had cooled to body temperature, she strained it and used the liquid for wound cleansing or just applied ground rosemary to wounds. Another time she told him, teasingly, that she was very good at creating an aphrodisiac cream out of jimsonweed. "It will make you cheerful and quite receptive to lovemaking," she smiled.

"Didn't they call that the devil's apple in the days of witch hunts?" asked the capitán with a straight face. "I seem to recall that the religious fanatics of the 17th century objected strenuously to the idea that women could honestly find pleasure in the flesh as men do."

Pilar was surprised that he spoke so calmly about such matters. She was expecting something quite different from a man whom she discovered not only wore the medallion of Saint Francis around his neck, but also an intricately carved cross of wood. Most Catholics wore crosses of precious medals, but the wood was more than symbolic, she thought, and it was another reason she thought him quite different and spiritually closer to her than she thought possible for a Paya - a non-Gypsy. Nevertheless, she assured him that she did not think he needed such potions, knowing he had succeeded where no other man had in winning the hand of the Señorita Margarita.

"It is our love of music," Francisco told her.

"And more," she added in a mischievous tone of voice.

"Ah, hem," De las Fuentes cleared his throat to change the subject. "May I ask you what stones you have here? It seems there must be some symbolism in them."

"These are special crystals," Pilar answered. There are crystals for peace in the home, for love, of course, and for friendship. There are some that help heal the body and others that aid in healing the mind. All of these stones work to benefit people. I have two special ones for you in addition to the others. They involve your rebirth."

"My rebirth?" asked Francisco. "I do not understand."

"This is the Banded Amethyst," she told him, holding up a highly polished brown and white stone with a black band running through it. "With this you will undergo the transformation needed that comes from within. You will transform your old fears into new courage; it will connect you with your own powers and potential. You, Don Francisco, already understand that you are spiritually responsible for your physical actions - a rare moral courage in this day and age. Use your gifts and moral strengths to expose to the light the demons that lurk within you. Work as one with the Earth."

The flames of the fire seemed to leap higher as Pilar placed the stone back in the circle around him. She held up another stone, banded in browns and white. "This is the Banded Agate. It will help you look back into your past and to redress any imbalances with positive deeds and acts. Throw out the old bad thoughts, go back to the things you love best, and learn from the new world that you entered. Take some of it back with you. Use your gifts to help make a better world - for the one you love, too."

Pilar then picked up the two stones and handed them to the small man. "Here. Press them in your palms. Think about what I have said. Soon we will cast them…." She paused and did not finish her instructions.

The cavern had grown mysteriously quiet and it seemed odd that all the birds had stopped their chattering and singing in the bushes, reeds and trees outside the cavern. There was a kind of premonition that silenced all talk. Then, it seemed as if a wave approached at rapid speed from out of nowhere, crested at where he lay and then rolled on past him - invisible, like a mighty wind, but the power was unmistakable and awesome in its intensity.

Some rocks fell outside the cavern, rolling down the face of the mountain, while pebbles quivered across the surface of stones and boulders. Only the flowing waters of the stream by which he lay, seemed unmoved and untouched by the force of nature expressing itself far below the surface of the land. Soon the shaking ceased and the world seemed as it was before. It was several minutes before anyone began to move once the shaking has stopped.

"May God preserve us," the small man said, crossing himself. He watched the curadora as she seemed to be listening intently to something. She looked over at Gray Feather and he nodded almost imperceptibly as if he read her thoughts.

"Señora Montoya, what is it?" asked Francisco, sensing that the earthquake had triggered a change in their circumstances.

The gypsy stared down at him a long moment as if not recognizing him. "Something is wrong," she said to no one in particular. She became a part of a world he did not yet understand. She stood up and the Shaman rose with her. "I must go now," she told him. He nodded and his assistant came forward to escort her back out the way she had first come.

Gray Feather came over to the man who sat up in alarm. "Do not worry, my Brother," he said to Francisco. "She will return to us when her work is done out there," he gestured widely as if to the world at large. "For now, there is more for you to do." He stood up. "Come with me. Come to a place where all the men go to heal."

"Where is this place?" De las Fuentes inquired as the assistant slipped some deerskin moccasins on his naked feet and helped him to his feet. Francisco pulled the furs around himself modestly and walked carefully over the stones. The women in the cave had stopped their quiet chatter, giggled and watched them depart

"It is in the ground. It is where no women are allowed to go," answered the Shaman.

The capitán thought about that a moment. He wanted to be polite, but he was also very curious. "Why are no women allowed to go to this place?" he asked.

The old man turned back to him. "It is our belief that there are different spirits, different gods for the male and female," he explained. "We are different, our needs are different. It would not be wise to force a man to have a female god, or for a female to have a male god. There is a reason for our differences and each god or spirit is appropriate for the needs of each sex." He pointed to a path that all three began to follow. It led past the reeds and up onto drier land, past bushes and grasses.

"In more ancient times," Francisco observed, "our ancestors believed something similar. This was true in old Egypt, Greece, Rome, and the Gauls even worshipped animals, trees, and other formations of nature, such as forests, rainbows, and the seas. There were gods for everything. The stars in the sky and even the planets are named after our old gods."

"Do the whites have many tribes as we do in this land?" asked the Shaman, pausing under a willow tree.

The Spaniard was quiet a moment before he answered. It was not a discussion that he expected, but he liked the questions it raised, even if they were disturbing. "Yes," he replied. "And in many ways we remain tribes. Perhaps we have lost some of our wisdom along the way in growing beyond the ways of your people, yet we like to think that we are stronger and better because of it. In terms of our art, our music, our level of understanding of the past, we like to think that we are wiser or create more beauty now. But we seem to fail greatly when it comes to following the teachings of our religion when it involves how to treat other humans - different from ourselves - any better."

By now, they had reached a strange mound. Sands and dirt surrounded a structure built into the earth with heavy logs and stones. From a hole in the roof of the submerged structure, came smoke. De las Fuentes wondered if it was a place of food preparation, but the Indian had said he would show him a place where women were not allowed.

Gray Feather pointed to the hole in the roof. "This is a place of healing and laughter, a place of peace of mind and of brotherhood. It will be a place where you will learn to understand us more." He gestured for Francisco to remove the fur from around his body. Then the old man smiled and said humorously, "You may think that you are descending into what the white priests call "hell," but when you come out, you will know what it is to be in the "heaven" on Earth or emerging once again from the womb."

The men moved toward the smoking hole, and a great wave of moist hot air struck Francisco as he stood looking down into a dark pit. The men with him helped him down into the hole. Once his eyes adjusted he saw a darkened underground chamber of earth, logs and stone. Near the entrance a low fire was burning. The chamber was filled with men of all ages as naked as he himself. The heat from the room was so intense, that they were all bathed in sweat, but they seemed to be enjoying it. The Shaman's assistant found him a space and both sat down in the warm sand against a wall. Gray Feather sat close to the Spaniard. After all the men were settled in, he looked over at his guest and intoned: "Welcome, Man of the Sacred Waters. Welcome to our sweat lodge."

****************

Salvador Muñoz pulled up his horse and dismounted in a hurry. The mare was favoring her front left leg and he would be losing precious time. He knelt over and examined the mare's shoe. There was a rock in it that he would need to dislodge. Surely, he thought he was cursed with that infernal Pérez woman's bad luck.

Salvador looked about him. He was not too far from Don Leon's rancho. He could get an exchange of horses there and nobody would ask any questions. Then, he would make his way to the port of San Pedro. With any luck, he could get aboard a ship headed southward toward México and make his escape. He had to do it quickly because if there was any chance that De las Fuentes returned, then he would alert all the comandantes in California for his arrest. In México, he would be out of the jurisdiction of Alta California.

Don Leon Santos was headed out towards the pueblo when he saw the young man in his long dark frock approaching on horseback. He hailed the son of Don Felix Muñoz. "Hello, Salvador," he called. "What brings you out in the campo at this time of day?"

"Hello, Don Leon," the young man greeted him. "Out on a lark today. But, it seems my mare has gone lame in our game of chase."

"Let's take a look," Leon suggested, dismounting. He lifted the right leg and examined the shoe. He didn't find a reason for it, but the mare was still limping. "She must have thrown the stone out," he commented. "Why don't you leave her here and take one of mine. When she's recovered, I'll bring her back in to town."

"Thanks," Salvador replied as calmly as he could.

Leon's wife appeared at the gate and waved at Muñoz. "Hello, Salvador," she called. "Are you out visiting?"

"His mare went lame," Leon told her.

"What a shame," she commented. "Why don't you come inside for some tea and something to eat."

"Well, I..." began Salvador.

"Go ahead," Leon encouraged him. "It will take some time for me to unsaddle this one and get another ready. Relax; your companions won't miss you."

Salvador reluctantly went inside and sat down at the table. He quickly consumed cold cuts, bread and fruit. When he finished and had chatted politely with his hostess, Don Leon entered the house.

"Won't you have a glass of claret?" he asked. "You like the good stuff, don't you?"

Salvador smiled and agreed to a small glass. He controlled his impatience with great effort. "This is fine," he commented. "You and your wife must dine with me soon." He paused. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a long coat I could borrow, do you? You see my frock is getting quite dusty and it would help to protect it from all the brush?"

Within a few minutes, Don Leon Santos returned with a long coat. "It will even keep you warm at night," he said.

"Thank you," replied Salvador. "You have no idea what a great help you have been. I hope someday to return the favors."

"Don't think anything of it," Leon responded affably. "I'll pick it up later this week." Several minutes later after seeing his guest off, Leon came back into the house. "That's a little odd," he mused.

"What's odd?" his wife asked.

"Salvador," he answered. "He came in along the road, but he left up over the hills. That will take him far from the main road." He shrugged. "He did say he was out on a lark."

*************************

"There is nothing more you can do," the doctor told Diego. "Best leave her to me for now."

Diego de la Vega left Margarita's side reluctantly. She looked so pale. He had held her hand until several women volunteers appeared and began to help the doctor. One of the women reported that Margarita's mother had fainted at the news. When she recovered, she would come to her daughter's side. Diego's mind raced with plans about what he would do next.

As he left the doctor's office, Diego thought about the fact that he had not had the time to appear to her as El Zorro beforehand and to tell her that Don Francisco was in good hands. He knew that such news might be of the utmost importance because hope was often the magic ingredient that spelled the difference between a person's will to live or to die.

Then, there was the apprehension of Salvador Muñoz. The townsfolk were so outraged by his action that a posse had formed and was now heading out of town. The word of the shooting of the musically gifted young lady shut the pueblo down just as effectively as it had done when the comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes, disappeared. As for the soldiers, Sergeant García and a troop of men had already left about five minutes before. García was headed toward the San Gabriel Mission. He thought Salvador might want to take refuge there in the church in order to save him from the wrath of the townspeople.

Margarita Pérez lay on her back on a bed in the doctor's office. She had been surrounded by a half a dozen ladies from the town who had assisted the doctor in cutting away her clothing from around the wound, soaking up the blood, helping clean the entry and exit entrances of the wound, and murmuring assurances to the girl and to each other. It all seemed like a bad dream, with disjointed voices, odd pains and sensations. She thought she saw blue skies with racing white clouds overhead, and it didn't make much sense because she knew she was in a small room with people in it. She felt a strange presence that she could not explain and her body seemed to shift from the hot to the chilled. It seemed as if all her strength had been drained away the moment she realized that she had been shot. From a corner of her mind, she sought to reach out to her mother, to Francisco, and to….to something else that seemed to be there, but she did not know what it was.

It was probably a mere coincidence, men argued later, that the buildings began to tremble and sway right after she was shot. The women in the room cowered and one placed her body protectively across the girl on the bed, at first, then fled the room in fear. Others made their way, shakily, to the entrance of the building, and then to the street. Dr. Aguilera felt the ground shaking as well, fell on his knees, and crawled to the doorway. He had just left the room to get a mug of coffee and some more herbs from off the shelf to mix for the wound.

Margarita felt the jolt as well and thought that her world had come to an end. She did not know what her condition was but she was very conscious of what had happened. She wondered if she was going to die without ever having seen Francisco again. She wondered what he would think if he showed up and found her like this, or even in the grave; she wondered….

There was a slight movement in the room when the shaking stopped. She heard it rather than saw it. A figure moved quite close to her. It did not feel like the doctor, she thought vaguely. A gloved hand took one of hers and she heard a man's voice repeat her name. The voice seemed familiar and she opened her eyes. _Diego?_ She thought.

Kneeling at her side was a man clothed in black with a mask half concealing his face. Margarita recognized him at once. "Zorro?" she asked weakly.

"Señorita Pérez, I am hear to tell you that I have seen Capitán de las Fuentes. He is alive and being taken care of by the Indians," he told her.

"Francisco, you found my Francisco?" she asked incredulously.

"Sí, Señorita," he confirmed. "I have seen him myself. He will be coming back to you."

She gave a shallow sigh because her side hurt. "Francisco," she murmured.

"Señorita, you must promise me this," the knight in black told her. "You must fight with all your might and your will power to get well for Don Francisco. He will want to know that you will be able to travel with him back to Spain once you are married."

"I will try, Señor Zorro. It hurts so much," she whispered with great effort. Then, he heard her say as if in a dream, "My Francisco is coming back to me."

"And now, Señorita, I am leaving in order to bring to justice the one who has done this great harm to you."

There was silence and she heard nothing for a seemingly long time. When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. A moment later, Dr. Aguilera came in through the door with bowl of yarrow he had ground to make another poultice for the wound. Other herbs would be used as disinfectants, to ease the pain, and for her to swallow as a tea. The women returned uncertainly from the street once the earth had stopped moving. Ahead of them all would be the long vigil over the patient, for now the real battle for her life had begun.

********************

On a high hill far above the dirt road, known as the El Camino Real, sat a rider on a black steed. He was dressed from head to foot in black and a cape of the same shade fluttered behind him. The rider watched a troop of soldiers as they headed toward the Mission San Gabriel. The rider shifted his attention from the Spanish soldiers to an even larger group of horsemen coming down the road, but about a league behind the soldiers.

El Zorro had taken the shortcuts across hills and valleys, making his way among the trees and grasses. He had ridden the trail behind both groups and found something most interesting: the sign of a lame horse. He followed the trail of the horse discreetly to the rancho of Don Leon. It would have cost him much precious time but he felt that he must pay close attention to his instincts - that inexplicable quality that had guided him numerous times to safety. The man in black had approached the hacienda cautiously and made his way along the walls into the inner courtyard. Unseen, he ducked under the window where he overheard a conversation between the don and his wife about the visit of Salvador Muñoz. He straightened up, approached the front door and knocked as if he were a regular visitor.

Don Leon opened the door and to his surprise saw the man in black on his doorstep. "Zorro!" he exclaimed.

The Fox bowed to the don and said as a way of introduction. "Forgive me for arriving at your home unannounced, Don Leon, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me find someone who is a fugitive."

The brown-haired, mustachioed don looked puzzled. "How may I help you?" he asked. "I have not seen any fugitives around, unless you mean Enríquez."

"This one is a fugitive that you may not be aware of, Señor. It is Salvador Muñoz," El Zorro explained.

"Salvador!" the don responded in surprise. "What do you mean, a fugitive?"

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Don Leon," the Fox responded. "Just an hour ago, Salvador Muñoz shot Señorita Margarita Pérez in the plaza of the pueblo of Los Angeles. The men of the pueblo are looking for him and intend to do their worst."

Leon looked stunned. His wife joined him at the door. "What is this you are saying?" she asked in shock. "Salvador a fugitive? He shot Señorita Margarita?"

"Yes," answered El Zorro. "Her life is in danger." He paused. "I traced the tracks of a lame horse here to your rancho. Can you tell me if it was Salvador's?"

"Why, yes," sputtered the don. "I had no idea that such a thing had happened in the pueblo." He felt defensive, having helped a man he would have never suspected of such a deed. He hesitated before continuing. "Salvador insisted that he was out riding, out on a lark, and that his mare had gone lame."

"He is now fleeing justice," the man in black continued. "I must find him before the men of the pueblo take another kind of justice into their own hands. Tell me, if you can, when he was here and where did he go?"

Leon Santos did not hesitate. "It was within the past hour. I gave him one of my mares, a white one with a black spot on her left side. His is in my stables. I also gave him a long dun coat of mine - at his request."

"Thank you, Don Leon," El Zorro responded. "He is in disguise, but thanks to you, I will find him sooner rather than later." He swung up into the saddle.

"El Zorro," Leon began, pointing to the road, "Salvador did not take the road back there, but headed over the hill by the three oaks. He also supped with us briefly before departing."

"We did not know that this had happened," his wife said, upset and in tears at the news of Margarita's shooting. "If we had known, we would have never have helped Salvador."

"Do not worry yourself over this matter, Señora," the Fox told her before he turned away. "No one could have ever imagined that such a thing would happen in Los Angeles. Besides, both of you have made the difference on who will find Señor Muñoz and what his fate shall be."

With those words, the black stallion and his rider disappeared over the hills and through the meadows in pursuit of the fugitive.

*************************

The heat was quite intense inside the Indian sweat lodge. After a while, Francisco felt faint and wished he could leave. The Shaman noticed how the man with pale skin lowered himself to one side and lay down. Gray Feather knelt at his side. "You feel ill," he said.

Francisco sighed. "I feel as if the fever is upon me again."

"It is our intent that this be so," Gray Feather explained. "Our knowledge tells us that a fever is beaten by a fever, by the sweating out of poisons and illness from the body. You will drink water from the sacred springs outside and it will refresh you. You will sweat and sweat, drink and drink. This will help purge you of many demons."

Francisco really began to doubt the wisdom of his having submitted to the "cures" of the native Californians, but he was really in no position to do otherwise. "I shall do as you require," he responded tiredly. He drank long and deep from a gourd that was pressed to his lips. He wished to find some kind of coolness in the sands under his body, but the sands were as warm as the interior.

The men in the lodge began a low chant, a sing-song hymn or prayer. The Spaniard listened, but was not feeling in any condition to appreciate their efforts. Some of the men gathered around him, touching his pale flesh in curiosity. Another began to massage his neck, shoulders and back. At first the kneading fingers hurt, but that soon gave away to relief.

The men came and went during the day, chatting about the hunt, or the earthquake, or the stranger, a Spaniard, who had been welcomed as one of them. They took turns leading him to the refreshing waters that flowed in the stream nearby, then back into the hot interior. Once, as he sat with them on some flat stones by the flowing waters, he heard the tilting sounds of a flute, and looked around. Nearby, seated on a mound, a young man played a reed, imitating the sounds of birds and then playing a mysterious, yet compelling melody. Francisco was delighted by the realistic bird imitations by the player and asked about the instrument. One of the men at his side rose and approached the young man. The older man returned with the flute and Francisco examined its smooth, carved body with mysterious symbols. He lifted the flute to his own lips and amazed everyone by playing back what he had just heard. He attempted a few flute pieces he knew as well and everyone nodded at the sounds that emerged from the dried, hollow, yellow reed. The young man smiled and approached him. Francisco handed the flute back and watched how his new acquaintance then tried to imitate what he had just heard played. There were smiles all around. Then, it was back into the hot house for more sweating.

By the time the day played itself out, he was once again wrapped in furs, slipping off into a deep sleep after eating a kind of soup and mush. He told himself that he had never slept so much in his life, perhaps making up for all the time he had lost since he left Spain. His leg did not hurt now, it only ached. Herbal creams were massaged into the area around the long cut to keep the growing scar soft. The redness had subsided and turned a pale pink. He was amazed at how quickly the process had taken place. He was especially impressed that these people knew so much about healing wounds and tending the sick. Most importantly, though, was the kindness and concern expressed by the community toward one who was sick and needed help. This was not something very different among most white families, he reflected, yet we don't think it applies to others who are different - either in race or religion.

The next morning, he returned to the dark pit where he listened as the Indians discussed numerous topics, speaking sometimes in their broken Spanish for his benefit. He learned that the major purpose of the lodge, besides treating the ill or infirm, was something he did not expect - a talk shop, a social outlet where men could speak of community concerns, plans for hunting, problems with the women folk, and, of course, the games that they played with pebbles, sticks or shells.

There was so much to learn and understand. Francisco saw the poverty of the people and experienced their incredible generosity in sharing the little that they had. He remembered reading, in the library of his father, accounts by the great Bartholomé de las Casas, a priest and later Bishop of Chiapas, who spent much of his life trying to alleviate the suffering of the Indians caused by the white conquerors. Francisco told the men in the lodge that Las Casas took the case on behalf of the natives to the king of Spain, the highest levels of government, in his quest for justice. Las Casas took documentation of the injustices done and the cruelty inflicted upon them by those who were obsessed by gold and making profits by enslaving the natives and stripping them of their liberties and lands. The king, he said, was horrified by the injustices done in his name. But the king was far away and the colonists broke many laws for which they were not held accountable. His companions listened with great interest and, he thought, with some sadness as well.

His new acquaintances began to become discernable individuals - men with names like Lame Eagle, or Lizard Man, Black Hawk, Big Eyes, or Bobcat. They had faces as distinct as Europeans and personalities as diverse and compelling. The woman who cooked his food and brought it to him in a woven basket or wrapped in leaves became more than just an immodest, almost naked female, but a curious, smiling young woman who liked to gaze into his blue eyes and turn away in her shyness.

"She wishes no one else to cook for you," the Shaman told him. "She sees the summer skies in your eyes and would like to share your bearskin."

Francisco told Gray Feather that, while he was honored by her interest, he was engaged to be married to a young lady in Los Angeles. He had to turn down her kind request. The young native only looked confounded when this white man's customs were explained to her.  
  
---  
  
**Chapter 31**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	31. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
Chapter Thirty-one

A Spanish ship arrived only that morning, docking in the port of San Pedro . Aboard the tall, masted vessel were travelers - merchants, military men, an official, family members, or perhaps just an odd tourist or two, explorers in the exotic lands of the far-flung Spanish empire.

A man of medium height, with brown hair pulled back in a small "tail" at the back of his neck, stood at the thick wooden railing of the craft and watched the bustle of the crew as they unloaded stores and supplies from the deck below. The journey had been a long one up the coast from Mexico, for the ship had to fight against a current that pushed it southward, and winds that blew it to the west at times. The man was particularly anxious to arrive, although nothing could be done about the seas or the winds or the cold that caused him to wear a heavy black cloak over his rather elegant, cream-colored knee britches, white stockings, and well-made black shoes. The captain thought his dress rather old fashioned since many men had begun to wear long trousers rather than the older style "culottes." Even the cut of the man's coat was out-of-date, despite its obvious quality and cost. Nevertheless, the captain offered his table to share for meals and found the man cultivated and well-spoken. Despite their many conversations about the world, philosophy and literature, the captain never learned who the stranger was or what he was employed at. He only knew his name - Juan Muñoz.

The newcomer found, upon arrival at the port, that he would have to either wait for a carriage - they had all been "engaged" by his fellow passengers - or to hire a horse to take him to Los Angeles. After some haggling, he procured a mount in order to set out along the road that would lead him to his destination. However, the mount would not be available until the next day. He would have to return to his cabin.

Unknown to the captain, to his mysterious passenger or to the crew, a white horse with black markings on its side had made its way down through the meadows and hills, avoiding the main roads. The rider wore a dun-colored long coat and his hair was quite mussed from the blowing winds of late fall. The rider's destination was the port of San Pedro .

Not far behind the rider, a man in black astride a young stallion traced his prey through the hills and back down onto roads, across meadows, through trickling arroyos and finally to the stretch of highway that ran to the port of San Pedro.

Early that evening, Salvador Muñoz rode up to the docks. After making hasty inquiries, he persuaded a sailor to allow him to speak with the captain of the only vessel tied up along the wharf. The bearded captain was a little leery of the young man who pushed gold coins at him and insisted on a cabin.

"And what is your name, if I may ask?" the officer inquired. "I am Captain Silva, at your service."

"I'm Muñoz," the young man told him. "My father is an important merchant in the pueblo of Los Angeles. Perhaps you know of him? I'm needed in a hurry on family business in Ciudad México."

The captain was patient but his voice became brusque. "We off-loaded some of our cargo here just today," he told the young man. "Our next port of call is San Francisco. I'll be back in a week or two. You won't be able to head south until our return and we may be delayed by the weather or heavy seas. You can purchase a cabin now or later for that time."

"I also need to make a stop in San Francisco before heading south," Salvador insisted hastily. "Will you rent me a cabin or not?"

The bearded man disliked the young man's rudeness, but took his coins, wrote Salvador’s name in a ledger with a goose quill dipped in ink. He then rose from the table and placed the coins in a strong box. Quite casually he told the young man. "There is a passenger on board whom you may know."

Salvador was suspicious. "How could I know anyone on board?" he asked.

"He has your surname and has been making inquiries about hiring a horse to get to Los Angeles."

"What else do you know about him? Is he here now?" young Muñoz continued.

Captain Silva became irritated at his manner. "He is in the aft cabin - the high-priced one. Why don't you call on him and find out?"

"I think I shall," Salvador responded thoughtfully. He considered the fact that he did not want to make an enemy out of the captain. A plausible lie could always work wonders. He leaned himself toward the other man in a confidential manner and seemed to confess. "I'm sorry if I appear so impatient. Actually, I'm in a little bit of trouble in Los Angeles. A married woman, you see."

The captain nodded in understanding. "Her husband must be quite formidable for you to be in such a rush to make a berth on board," he observed knowingly.

"He's a madman," Salvador responded.

"Let me show you to the cabin," Silva offered courteously. "Perhaps you two are related."

************ ********* ********* *

The cabin was empty; nevertheless, Salvador looked around at its comfortable interior. _Just what I need_ , he thought.

Captain Silva pulled the door closed and gestured up the stairs ahead. "He may be up on deck. I'll go with you aloft."

The two men strode the deck, but saw no one. The captain left his side shortly while Salvador paced back and forth. He did not know that two eyes watched him from a short distance away - two eyes covered by a black mask.

A chilly breeze began to blow across the deck and Salvador decided to go below. He went back to the elegant cabin and went inside to wait for its occupant.

On the deck above, a dark shadow made its way up the gangplank and ducked around the stacked crates on deck waiting to be unloaded in the morning. None of the crewmen saw him as they leisurely maintained a watch and spoke to each other, smoking their short sailor's pipes and chatting about the coming trip to the north.

A man in black carefully passed darkened doors which told him the cabins held no occupants. He finally saw one with light under the door. He carefully pulled the door open a crack and looked in.

Salvador Muñoz stood with his back to the cabin door, gazing at some of the paintings on the cabin walls, paintings that depicted ships at sea, saints of the church and one of the current king of Spain, Ferdinand VII. His hands were in his pockets. He did not hear the door open or close, but he did hear someone speak his name.

"Salvador Muñoz - we meet at last."

Salvador swung around and saw a man dressed in black facing him. The face was half hidden by a mask, and a long cape of black hung behind him. In the man's hands was a pistol and the pistol was pointed at him.

Salvador gasped, "Zorro!" in his shock, and then demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Señor," the Fox smiled grimly. "You have attempted to take the life of one of Los Angeles ' most beloved musicians - a most cowardly act, Señor - to shoot a woman."

Salvador backed up against the wall, staring at the pistol. "You won't take me back, I won't go. The Comandante will kill me!"

"If you do not come back with me voluntarily, then you might be killed right here in San Pedro," El Zorro told him.

"You, you would kill me?" stammered the young man.

"Not I, Señor," the man in black explained. "There are a large number of men on their way here to get you. I am afraid that if you do not come with me, you will most certainly have to go with them."

"And?"

"And if they get a hold of you, you may be carried back in a box, not on your horse."

Salvador took at step toward the Fox. "Then, let me go. Don't let them catch me!"

"I am afraid not, Señor Muñoz, for I would be most negligent in my duties and it would deprive me of a certain satisfaction."

"And what is that?" asked Muñoz in a hostile tone.

"Seeing you finally take responsibility for your actions. It is something that you have never faced, and now, you must." The masked man gestured with his pistol. "I suggest that we make for our horses and begin the trip back at once before the townsmen find out and apply some of their own justice."

"What if I call out? What if I won't go?" Salvador tried to threaten.

"You won't call out," El Zorro told him. "For if Capitán Silva knew he was harboring a criminal on board, perhaps a murderer of a young girl, he might just hang you himself." He watched Salvador’s pasty face turn pale. "And now, let us go."

A few minutes later, Juan Muñoz returned to his cabin. Odd, he thought, as he entered the room and closed the door. It seemed as if someone had been there. He looked around and nothing looked disturbed. He thought a moment about a young man he had brushed by in the near darkened corridor on his way to the cabin. His outline reminded him more of a dandy than any member of the crew. Another figure had passed him so quickly that he did not have time to notice anything other than the man wore a cape and averted his face. Juan Muñoz shook away these thoughts and began to make his plans for the next day. These plans that would take him on a journey to the pueblo of Los Angeles, the end of a long trip he had begun a few months before in Spain.

************ ********* **

Margarita Pérez opened her eyes and looked up. She saw the tear-stained face of her mother watching her closely from a chair by the pillow.

"Margarita, darling," María said softly, stretched out a hand and began to caress her daughter's long brown hair. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Where is Francisco?" the young woman whispered in reply.

The woman in the white blouse and dark brown skirt held her hand. "He's still with the Indians. They say he is getting stronger every day."

"I need Francisco, Mother," the girl said weakly. "I think I am going to die."

"You're not going to die," María insisted. "Doctor Aguilera says you are doing much better. The bullet passed through your body - a clean wound."

"I need Francisco," Margarita repeated softly and closed her eyes again.

María was alarmed. She placed her daughter's hand gently back on the blanket. She looked at one of the woman volunteers who sat close by and nodded. The woman rose and took her place in the chair. María left the room to look for the doctor.

Doctor Aguilera was out in the front room of his office where his supplies of herbs and botanicals in glass jars lined the shelves of his tiny pharmacy. He was talking with a man that María recognized at once \- Sebastian Pérez. Both men turned toward her as she approached.

"Doctor Aguilera, she is asking for him again," María addressed the doctor.

"Asking for whom?" Sebastian asked. "For me?"

"For Capitán de las Fuentes," she replied, not looking at her husband. The doctor nodded and she continued, "Isn't there any way to contact him and bring him here at once? Margarita is convinced that she is going to die. She said she needs him."

Sebastian snorted at the mention of the comandante's name.

Dr. Aguilera smiled kindly and responded. "No one knows how to reach him, Doña María, but I am sure that he will be back soon. Let me speak with Margarita. I will assure her that she is coming along as expected."

María wrung her hands and watched the gray-bearded physician enter the room and close the door gently. She sighed.

Sebastian spoke up. "I'm not going to allow that fellow near Margarita. If it wasn't for him, this would have never have happened. It's all his fault."

María spun on him in anger. "He was not anywhere near the pueblo when this incident occurred! Salvador shot Margarita because she turned him down again and he refuses to accept that."

"Don't you raise your voice to me, María," her husband ordered. "When Margarita is well, she will marry Salvador and do as she is told. All of us have put up with her impudence for long enough." He paused. "And don't tell me that she will refuse."

María straightened her shoulders. "You no longer have any say in the matter!"

Sebastian's mouth dropped open at her words. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"You no longer have any say in this because you disinherited her," María repeated. "And because you said you no longer have a daughter, I have taken matters into my own hands."

"And what do you mean by that?" Sebastian began to rage.

"I have already given my permission for her engagement and marriage!" María responded, balling her hands into fists. "As soon as she is well, she will marry the man she loves."

"Nonsense! Who did you engage her to?"

"Why," María changed her tone to one of utter sweetness. "Why to Capitán de las Fuentes. His engagement ring is on her finger and has been there for several days. Padre Felipe has already blessed their union."

"I won't allow this to take place, then!" fumed Sebastian.

"For once, there is nothing you can do about it. And it's all your fault, Sebastian," María told him. "You went too far, disinheriting your own daughter and making it all legal. As her mother, Don Francisco asked me for permission to marry her and I agreed. And it's all your fault, Sebastian. If you had not done this, it would have been you agreeing to your daughter's marriage to Don Francisco, not me."

With those words, María turned away from her red-faced husband, opened the door to the room where her daughter lay, and closed it behind her without another word.

Sebastian still stood there several minutes later with his mouth agape. He saw all his plans for grabbing Felix Munoz’s business and enriching himself through a marriage crumble before his eyes. There could only be one last desperate effort and that would be to get rid of the comandante, but he was not the man for that. Sebastian was determined to stop the marriage, but how could he? He would consult with the lawyer, he would threaten De las Fuentes, he would….he would…. Sebastian Pérez suddenly realized there was nothing he could do about it. At least, not for now.

************ ********* *

It was early morning when a large number of men on horseback decided to head toward the port of San Pedro. They had, at first, followed the soldiers to the Mission San Gabriel in search of the fugitive, only to find that he was not there.

Not satisfied to follow Sergeant García's suggestion that they return to the pueblo of Los Angeles, these men nevertheless took the road back towards the north and debated among themselves what to do. It was then they ran across one of the rancheros on his way to the mission and learned that Salvador had been seen. These men learned from Don Leon Santos that young Muñoz had fled over the hills towards the west, avoiding the main road. The leader of the group suggested that Salvador would try to flee from California. The best way to prevent this was to nab him in San Pedro.

Several hours later, one of the men observed two riders approaching from the far distance. He called to his companions. As the two groups approached each other, the men were surprised to see that one of the riders was Salvador Muñoz. The other was El Zorro. The large group of men slowed as they neared the two riders. Their leader turned to his followers, "Look it is Salvador Muñoz with El Zorro!" His tone was triumphal. "You, Tony, get the rope." He spurred his horse forward to greet the two riders.

El Zorro watched the approach of the large number of men. He recognized his neighbors and men from the town where he grew up. Most importantly, he recognized a lynch mob when he saw one.

Salvador’s face was white. He, too, watched the approach of the townsmen. "They're going to kill me," he moaned. He looked down at his hands that were tied together and felt completely helpless.

"No, they are not," El Zorro said in a firm voice as he watched the leader break away from the group and approach him.

"We see you've caught the killer of Señorita Pérez, El Zorro," the man called out to him. "Now we can give him the justice he deserves." By now he was just a few yards away from the two riders.

"Ah, Señor Miguel Cisneros!" called out the Fox. "I see that you are well and have placed yourself at the head of another lawless group that wishes to take justice into its own hands. Have you not learned anything from your experiences with the natives about judging men without evidence?"

Cisneros was confident with the large group at his back. "There is no doubt to Salvador’s guilt," he shouted. "Half the men with me saw him shoot down Señorita Pérez in the plaza!"

"Is she dead?" asked Salvador in a shaking voice. He momentarily recalled her lying in the dirt after he shot her. He didn't check to see if he had killed her.

"She's dying," Cisneros told him triumphantly. "And De las Fuentes has still not returned. It wouldn't surprise me if he's dead as well."

"Capitán de las Fuentes is not dead," declared Zorro, "for I myself have seen him among the Indians." This declaration caused a stir among the mounted men behind Cisneros. "Señora Montoya was also there and assured me that he is receiving the best care possible. When he returns to Los Angeles it will be his duty, and his duty alone, to see that this young man gets a fair trial."

"He's either going to hang now or hang later," snarled Cisneros. "And it's the verdict of the pueblo that he hangs now!" He turned back toward the men. "Bring the rope!"

El Zorro drew his sword, urged the black stallion forward, and approached Cisneros. "No one is going to take the law into their own hands, Señores! And if anyone tries, he will have to fight me first."

Cisneros tried to urge the group of men on. "Get him! Get him! There are only two of them against all of us!"

"Yes, come, all of you!" shouted the masked man as he charged Cisneros. The clean-shaven man blanched, then drew his sword. The clash of steel resounded as the larger group hesitated, fascinated by the drama unfolding before their eyes. A few of them eyed the frightened Salvador who sat on Don Leon's white horse. Two men started forward.

El Zorro's blade flashed quickly, his wrist rolling and catching the saber of the man opposite him. Cisneros responded with heavy-handed slashes, barely parrying the powerful, swift thrusts that seemed to rain down on him relentlessly. It soon became apparent to him that he was going to lose this contest. Then, in a flash, his sword flew out of his hands. With the flat of his blade, El Zorro smacked the rump of his opponent's mare with the flat of his blade, a startling move that sent the mare fleeing the battle scene with the rider barely in control.

Without even catching his breath, the man in black turned on the two men who were attempting to sneak past him to get to Salvador. Rising up in his saddle and unwhirling a long Spanish bullwhip, he was upon them in a moment. As the whip sang and one of the men tumbled into the dirt, the other, the one Cisneros had called Tony, turned and drew his pistol.

The Fox only grinned at that. "So, you would kill me and face the hangman yourself?"

The other hesitated. "I am not here to do battle with you, Zorro," he declared. "Our fight is not with you." He thrust the pistol back into the saddle holster.

"Good!" the man in black responded. "Now I suggest that all of you form an escort for Señor Muñoz and myself. As you know, Capitán de las Fuentes is a man dedicated to justice and assuring that every man has his day in court. You gentlemen would not wish to fill his jail now, would you?"

The journey back to Los Angeles was a calm one. Only Salvador Muñoz cursed his bad luck and looked forward with great fear to his confrontation with the comandante, Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes.

************ ********* ******  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 32](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante32.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	32. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Thirty-two

Pilar Montoya swept past the men and women who filled the outer office of Dr. Aguilera and entered the only other room in the building, the room where a wounded young woman lay. She knew that a quick entrance would prevent her from being denied seeing the comandante's fiancée.

As she closed the door behind her, Dr. Aguilera turned toward the door. His face registered surprise and dismay. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could object to her presence, she announced, "Capitán de las Fuentes sent me to check up on his beloved Señorita Margarita."

The gray-bearded physician considered her words and grumbled, "Oh, very well." He stood up and allowed the disheveled gypsy woman to take his place by the bed. "Señorita Margarita is coming along as expected," he said.

Pilar got to work at once, feeling the girl's forehead, allowing her fingers to flow down the hair and cheeks of the young woman. She examined her arms and fingers, her stomach and finally pulled back the dressings, very gently, to examine the bullet wound. She frowned. Then she seemed to notice a woman sitting a few feet away. The resemblance was unmistakable.

"You are Señorita Margarita's mother?" asked Pilar.

"Yes, I am," the woman confirmed. She had watched the gypsy's quick hands and saw her frown. María Pérez became concerned. "Is anything wrong?"

"There is still much more to be done for the señorita," the gypsy told her and began to unpack the pouch that she carried slung over the shoulder.

"Now just a moment," Dr. Aguilera interrupted. "I am in charge of this patient and you are hardly in any position to make any hasty judgments regarding my care. What I have done is standard practice among all physicians in the treating of wounds and…"

Pilar waved her hand. "As I understand it, Señor Doctor, you are the one who was going to remove Capitán de las Fuentes' leg just a week ago. Surely you know the survival rate for such amputations?"

"I thought…" he began, but she continued, "As of this moment, Don Francisco's leg is healing well. Soon, he will be walking as well as you. Even as I speak, he is purging the poisons from his body and ridding his body of the fevers and infections."

When the physician began to sputter, María Pérez spoke up. "It's all right, Doctor Aguilera. I am truly grateful for what you have done." She turned to the gypsy. "Señora, the good doctor and Diego de la Vega brought Margarita here. The ladies you saw in the outer room helped greatly in changing my daughter's dressings and giving her medications. What more can be done?"

"Much more," Pilar repeated. "While the wound is clean and this tea," she indicated a mug with a distinct odor, "has been prepared, there are special herbs that go beyond mere cleansing. I have them here. With your permission, I would like to administer them to the señorita."

María looked up at the man. She could see the indignation in his features: the very idea that a gypsy could think that she could cure a patient better than he could! "Doctor Aguilera saved my daughter's life, Señora," she said pointedly, defending him. "How can your medicines be more beneficial than his?"

"It is a combination of herbs and dressing changes that can make a great difference," Pilar explained. "How often are these dressings changed?"

"Twice a day," Aguilera answered.

"Not often enough," Pilar declared. "Change once every three hours along with a new application of these leaves."

"Leaves?" exclaimed the doctor. "Since when do leaves replace good cotton dressings?"

"When they draw out the poison!" exclaimed Pilar in an irritated manner. "And what have you done for her soul?"

"I leave those matters to the padre," Aguilera replied dryly.

Pilar turned toward María. "Señora, all this may seem strange to you, but it is very important to treat both the body and soul as one. Has Señorita Margarita said that she felt as if she were going to die?"

María was startled. "Yes," she admitted, "several times. She asks that Don Francisco return to her. She believes she is going to die."

There was a stirring in the bed. Margarita Pérez opened her eyes and looked up into the dark eyes of a stranger, a woman dressed in a colorful bandanna and skirts; a woman with long earrings. She was not afraid. She seemed to know the reason for her presence.

"Señorita Margarita," Pilar began. "I am here to bring you good tidings."

The young woman's face was trusting. Her blue eyes held the brown ones of the gypsy. "Francisco. Is he coming back to me?"

"Yes, he is," the gypsy declared. She watched the doctor out of the corner of her eye as he shook his head. "Look here," she said, putting a hand at her throat and withdrawing what looked like a gold chain from under her blouse. "I brought with me a sign from y our beloved," she smiled. "Here, the medallion he wears around his neck."

"San Francisco," Margarita whispered. "His saint."

Pilar continued, "Wear it until his return which shall be soon." She fastened the medallion around the young woman's neck and placed its golden head over her heart. "Don Francisco would want you to have this as a sign." The old gypsy knew she had taken it without asking the comandante's permission, but then she did not have the time. She would tell him later what she had done for the señorita.

Margarita smiled, touching her fingers to the warm medal. "He is coming back."

"Yes. His leg is healing very well and the demons which haunted him are gone," Pilar announced. Then she caressed the girl's face gently with a hand. "Don Francisco has spoken much of you," she told the young woman. "You are in his thoughts constantly."

"As mine are of him," Margarita said softly. "Please forgive me if I sleep some more."

Pilar patted the girl's hand and watched her drift off. She began to work at once. As María watched, the gypsy pulled out incense, candles, stones, flower pedals, a pestle and mortar and began to work right away.

Doctor Aguilera cleared his throat, but María held up a hand. "It's all right, Dr. Aguilera. I think that Señora Montoya may have brought an important message from Don Francisco." She gestured for the man to follow her out of the room. When the door closed she whispered, "If there is anything she can do to lift Margarita's spirits, I welcome it. We have done all that we can for now. That is the first time she has spoken all day."

"What if the medallion is not really his or if she stole it?" the doctor argued.

María put her fingers to her lips as if not wanting anyone to overhear their words. "We don't know if it belongs to Don Francisco or not," she told him. "What is important is that Margarita believes it. If that small thing will help her rally, then this is the kind of medicine she needs as well." María looked thoughtful a moment. "Perhaps that is what the gypsy meant by administering to the soul as well as to the body."

The doctor recognized that if the mother was convinced, any further arguing would be of little avail. Instead, he offered her some fresh coffee and they sat down to continue the vigil outside the door.

****************

Don Alejandro de la Vega heard the shocking news from one of his servants and rushed to get the horse saddled so he could ride in to town. _So that's where Diego has been all night_ , he thought. He was proud of his son, imagining him at the side of the stricken girl, comforting her and assuring her of the return of the comandante, even though none of them knew when he would be released. He urged his mount into a canter.

It was at the fork in the road that led from the De la Vega hacienda to the El Camino Real, that the white-bearded man on horseback encountered a large group of men. At their head was a man in black astride a dark stallion – the outlaw, El Zorro. At first the don thought the masked man had been captured, but then the Fox hailed him.

"Don Alejandro, may I ask your services?" he asked upon spurring his steed ahead of the group and approaching him.

"What is the meaning of this, El Zorro?" asked Alejandro. "I feel that I must ask ‘How may **_I_** be of service to **_you_**?’" He was sure the outlaw was at a disadvantage.

"Not of service to me, Don Alejandro," Zorro smiled. "But of service to the people of Los Angeles, to the comandante, and to the Señorita Pérez." The man in black told him that Salvador Muñoz had been apprehended, trying to escape by sea. He and the other men were escorting the young man back into town in order to get a fair trial. Because he needed to get word to the comandante of the situation as soon as possible, he asked that the don take over the escort in to town.

"Do you not fear that these men might take justice in to their own hands and not deliver Salvador to the cuartel?" asked Alejandro. He could see unfriendly faces among several in the crowd.

"They have already tried. What is needed is an honorable man like you keep them in line until Señor Muñoz is delivered safely to the cuartel," the Fox explained.

Alejandro nodded. He understood at once that El Zorro could not be the one to escort the prisoner to the cuartel in the absence of Capitán de las Fuentes. "I heard what happened to Señorita Pérez," he said. "People are already up in arms against the boy."

"Yes, and as you know, Capitán de las Fuentes would want to see to it that even Señor Muñoz receives justice, not mob violence," El Zorro told him.

"I will see to it, then, Señor Zorro," the older man declared in a voice loud enough to be overheard by the men. "For we must insure that nothing we do will bring shame upon ourselves and bring the reprimand of Capitán de las Fuentes!"

The man in black tipped his hat to the smiling don and rode off down the road ahead of the crowd. In a matter of moments, he disappeared from sight.

Don Alejandro gestured the group forward. "To the pueblo of Los Angeles!" he commanded. " ** _Vámanos_**!"

****************************

Gray Feather heard the news about the capitán’s fiancée as he sat around the fire that evening. A young Indian runner had arrived breathless in the cool of the evening. The old man pondered the actions that would need to be taken. As he conversed with the young man, he watched the white man across the fire telling a group of children about the tame deer in his garden in Spain. Even the Shaman had listened with interest as the capitán described animals in other parts of the world that seemed almost magical – a camel, an elephant, an alligator and a giraffe - as magical as Coyote, Lizard, Eagle, Bear and Mountain Lion.

Unlike most whites he had encountered, this one, the musical one, was very interested in learning about how his people lived, how they made their flutes, drums and rattles, and how they knew about the plants that had cured him. The Shaman told him that it was ancient knowledge - but was careful in his answers. After all, even this man was an outsider, and one did not freely tell everything to outsiders. Instead, he encouraged the capitán to talk about the tribes in the lands of the Europeans, about the wars, the music and dwellings of the Spaniards where he lived. Some of the descriptions he heard seemed so fantastical to his experience that he thought the white man was telling tales merely to impress his listeners. The Man of the Sacred Waters was indeed a good storyteller, Gray Feather, thought, and certainly believed what he said. But whether it was really true or not, he could not say. After listening, he went out into the night and sat on a rock beside the flowing waters to think.

When the campfires began to burn low and the women and children had settled down for the night, the Shaman rose, came in to the cavern and approached the white man who sat wrapped in the bearskin by one of the fires. At first Gray Feather said nothing and gazed into the fire. De las Fuentes, very politely, rose and offered him his place closest to the fire. This man, no matter his dress and unassuming nature, was a still a king of his people, thought the Spaniard.

Gray Feather gestured for him to resume his seat and sat down as well. Finally he spoke.

"It is time for you return to your people," he said. "You will be able to continue healing after you leave us."

Francisco looked sad a moment. He was having an experience and adventure like no other he could have imagined – perhaps even better than the stories he had read by Alexander von Humboldt - and he would reluctantly have to cut it short. "Yes, I cannot forget my duties in the pueblo," he responded.

"Your people need you, Capitán. Your woman needs you. This is why you must return," the old man told him.

"I wish there were some way I could repay you for all you have done for me and all that you have shared with me," Francisco replied very sincerely. "I have experienced a great kindness and hospitality that I shall never forget. I have learned more living among your people than I could garner from dozens of books or the tales from sages."

"When one man walks in the moccasins of another, then he becomes a better man," Gray Feather affirmed.

As the flames began to flicker in the chilly night, the Shaman took his leave. "Sleep again, for tomorrow is a busy day for you. We will escort you back to the pueblo before the sun casts no shadows and when the winds will be at our backs."

*******************

Joaquín Enríquez climbed over the high wall of the hacienda quietly and paused to scout the patio and listen intently for the telltale sound of servants. He had left his mare tethered to a branch of a tree on the outside of the other end of the edifice for a quick escape. Sensing no one nearby, he dropped into a flowerbed along the wall and leaped onto the even stones of the patio like a silent and surefooted cat. Still looking over his shoulder, he made his way cautiously up the stairs of the De la Vega hacienda towards the room of Don Alejandro.

It was Joaquin’s third visit to the hacienda in two years – once as a vaquero, and twice as a secret visitor. He knew what he needed to get and where it would be. He was steps away from the wooden door and opened it carefully, peering inside. He slipped in through the door and closed it. He spotted the object – a gold snuffbox – on the mantel over the fireplace, just where he had seen it before. He reached for the ornate container and smiled. He never understood why men, let alone anyone, liked snuff.

At that moment, Bernardo opened the door to Diego’s room. He had been attending to his numerous duties there – brushing his young master’s clothing off, polishing boots, cleaning the mirrors and replacing candles in their pewter holders. Bernardo was thinking about how young Diego had left the night before in search of Salvador Muñoz. The mozo had no doubt that El Zorro would find the fugitive and Bernardo would have given anything to see the young fop’s face when the Fox confronted him. He made his way towards the stairs and suddenly the servant stopped. It was a strange mood that overcame him, as if something had passed his way unseen or missing. He looked around him – the hanging plants were there; the potted plants had been watered; the walkway swept; and the leaves down below on the broad patio removed. Perhaps it was something else, perhaps just a feeling. He turned toward Don Alejandro’s room.

Bernardo paused outside the door of the master of the hacienda and listened a moment. He knocked politely. When there was no response from within, he opened the door. The light flooded in to the room and the mozo’s eyes swept the room casually. The room was empty and everything seemed normal. He began to close the door. Then he noticed it. His sharp eyes noticed the missing snuffbox from over the fireplace. He blinked. He remembered replacing it just the other day when dusting off the mantel over the fireplace. He entered the room to take a closer look. Perhaps Don Alejandro had put it there, on the table by his reading chair, or perhaps by the bed. No, it was not there. The servant peered around on the floor to see if the box had fallen. Nothing was out of place on the floor. Bernardo had a prickly feeling he was being watched and tried to leave the room as casually as he had entered. He made a show of looking things over and quickly exited the room. When he reached the stairs, he hurried down as fast as he could.

Joaquín Enríquez paused a moment after examining the snuffbox and wrapping it in a cloth he pulled from his jacket. He heard footsteps outside the room door and made a hasty decision to become invisible. The one place that people would be unlikely to look would be under the large, posted bed. From under its rich hangings, he could watch the footsteps of any who entered or left. Unseen, he watched the uncertain steps of the servant walk around the room. As soon as the door closed, Joaquín crawled out and opened the door cautiously, he saw the mozo hurrying across the patio and his instincts told him to get out as quickly as possible. He made his way down the corridor to the next room, stealthily entered it and closed the door. He saw a narrow window beyond the end of the bed. It would allow him to drop down to his horse.

Bernardo and another servant armed with a short club rushed up the stairs to the don’s room. Outside the door, the second man listened carefully and raised his eyes to the mozo. Bernardo made gestures towards his eyes and pointed at his nose, trying to convey the idea he had either seen or smelled something unusual. The second man looked doubtful but pressed against the door, listening. Making a decision, he opened the door suddenly and pounced into the room as if ready to do battle with a bear. He saw nothing. The room was empty. The two men searched the room fruitlessly. Finally the man with the club walked out. Bernardo followed him with a sheepish look on his face and closed the door. The other man snorted and headed back down the stairs, once or twice looking back at the confounded mozo. All Bernardo could do was to shrug apologetically, but he knew that the snuffbox was missing and that it had only recently disappeared. As he made his way back toward Diego’s room he heard the faint sound of the hooves of a horse riding away. By the time he got to the end of the balcony, he saw a rider and horse disappear into the nearby brush.

*****************

He was back in the saddle again as if the nightmare he had just lived through had never occurred. It was almost like a dream, but a dream like no other. Surely, he would have the most remarkable tales of the New World to tell his family and to Margarita.

Francisco de las Fuentes, now clad in the impeccably clean uniform of a captain of the King’s Royal Lancers, made his way toward the pueblo of Los Angeles. He rode the horse of the dead Pablo Castañado. Behind him walked his honor guard, several members of the tribe of the folk who called themselves "the People of the Valley." For the first several leagues, he had agreed to be blindfolded so he would not know the way to the secret entrance to the cave of his benefactors. After that, he was given his pistol and the blindfold – it had been Margarita’s kerchief.

Across the arid terrain they walked, a terrain almost monotonous in its scrubby vegetation and intermittent cactus patches. Outcrops sprang up around corners or could be seen in the distance. Francisco found himself remembering his final words with the Shaman who had embraced him like a son. "I shall tell all who will listen of the goodwill and kindness of your people and of all Indians," Francisco said with some small enthusiasm. "Spaniards need to know that their stereotypes of Indians are greatly mistaken and that your peoples conduct themselves as great Christians would have them - peaceful and gentle of nature."

The Shaman was silent a moment before replying. "Capitán," he began. "You are a good man. You see much good in others. But you must know this: our people are peaceful, yes. But not all "Indians" are the same. Like your European tribes, there are the peaceful, the warlike, the honest, and the dishonest. All peoples have good and bad. The People of the Earth, the People of the River – our neighbors - they are peaceful and wise, but others are not so good. Beyond the lands of the mountains and far to the southeast, there are others who you also call "Indians." They are known by their fierceness and cruelty. One people are called Apache. It is said that they rip the heart out of a living man captured in battle and consume it in order to pass the courage from an enemy warrior into their own hearts."

"How dreadful!" Francisco exclaimed. Then he asked the Shaman, "Why do you think they are so cruel?"

The Shaman pointed out into the desert. "It is said that they kill Coyote and Snake for food; that their lives are very poor, worse than that of a fish in a pond that is drying up." Then he smiled slightly. "It is said that their women are very ugly and this is what makes the men crazy and cruel."

They had been sobering words and Francisco found himself grateful that he had become wiser in his knowledge. Then there were his plans and duties upon returning to Los Angeles. He had been gone over ten days now and he was apprehensive as to how the affairs in town had played themselves out. He remembered El Zorro carrying him into the cave and later, kneeling by him and assuring him that all was well; he heard the voice of the curadora, Señora Montoya, the gypsy, driving away the evil spirits that had haunted him, of her astonishing knowledge of his past and his love for Margarita; he remembered the long nights in pain and the longer days of healing in the sweat lodge, of the young Indian playing the reed flute and the astonishment and pleasure of the natives for the meeting and blending of their two cultures in musical notes and the songs of birds. He remembered the soft, brown eyes of the Indian maiden who gazed at him with curiosity and desire and the giggles of the women as they washed the acorn meal in the steam and talked about the man whose face bore the scars of the dreaded white man’s disease that had killed or maimed hundreds of their own people, of the ones who survived as he had survived.

Up ahead two Spanish riders saw the approach of a Spanish officer with his retinue of Indians clad in feathers, Mission white clothing, or just breechclouts. They waved their arms, then shouted in greeting and raced towards him, excited smiles on their sun-drenched faces. "Comandante, Comandante!" the men called.

Francisco saluted them, gravely at first, and then smiled at their enthusiasm. Both men rode up and welcomed him back. "It is good to be back," the captain said, but it was only partially true. One of the men departed at full gallop in order to be the first to bring the news that Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes was indeed returning to the pueblo.

As the small party drew nearer to the town, more men on horses joined their group. The procession took on an air of festivity. Vaqueros whirled on their mounts. As the horses entered the pueblo, people poured out of their homes and businesses, lining the streets. When the comandante appeared, cheers burst from the throngs, then applause. Women held up their babies to watch him pass. Small boys waved their hands and jumped up and down. Pretty señoritas flapped kerchiefs at him, for after all, they were all pretty señoritas. The words " ** _Viva! Viva! Viva_**!" rang in the air. No conquering hero, no Spanish king could have received a more tumultuous welcome, thought Francisco. It was hard for him not to feel overwhelmed by the loyalty of the Californians.

At the cuartel, Sergeant García looked up and listened. "What is going on here?" he asked himself. He hurried out to the gates. Reyes met him running. "Sergeant! Sergeant!" he said breathlessly. "The Comandante is back!"

"Excellent, Corporal, excellent!" García smiled. Then he grabbed Reyes’ arm and whispered nervously, "Uh, **_which_** comandante?"

" ** _Our_** comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes!" Reyes enthused.

García shouted to the soldiers within the cuartel, "Lancers! Fall in!"

As the soldiers hastily assembled, García led them out of the gate and lined them up formally before the garrison walls. The soldiers snapped to attention. The banner of Spain, red and gold with the black emblem of monarchy, flapped in the breeze that whipped up over the cuartel.

As the comandante arrived at the cuartel, García stepped forward and gave him a heartfelt salute. "Welcome back, Comandante. Welcome back to Los Angeles."

De las Fuentes returned his salute and turned in the saddle. After a few words of appreciation of the turnout of the town, he thanked the natives who had accompanied him back to the cuartel and praised their hospitality. Then he rode through the gates of the garrison and dismounted. It was time to get a full report of what had occurred in his absence.

García watched the officer closely as the officer approached him. "Capitán, you are not limping!" he noted.

De las Fuentes smiled. "Yes, my leg is almost as good as new." He patted his right leg in satisfaction thinking what a grand surprise it would be for Margarita and how that now, he certainly would be able to dance with her. After he attended to official matters at hand, he would call on her to reassure her of his good health. But it was time to get down to business. "Why don’t you bring me up to date on what has occurred since my absence."

García hesitated. He dreaded the news he would have to tell the comandante – of the escaped prisoner and worse, of the señorita.

As they headed toward the Oficina del Comandante, the captain stopped and looked at the jail a long moment before proceeding to the porch. He turned casually to the sergeant and asked in an amused tone, "I see that young Señor Muñoz is behind bars, Sergeant. Did he cheat at cards so badly as to end up in the cuartel?"

The large man looked down at his feet and the look on his face was strained. "Comandante, I do not know how to tell you this. It is very difficult for me and I am very sorry to have to tell you…" His voice trailed off.

Francisco halted at the door and looked up at the man who suddenly seemed almost fearful of his reply. He had never seen García so upset, not even the night after Señor Enríquez had escaped. "Don’t tell me he’s killed someone?" he asked, only half jesting.

"Comandante, could we speak of this inside?" asked García. "It might be a little better if, well, if…"

"Certainly, Sergeant," the officer smiled. García opened the door for him and the two men disappeared inside. The door closed quietly.

Across the yard, Salvador Muñoz watched the arrival of Capitán de las Fuentes with dread. He watched the officer dismount and noticed at once that he no longer limped, that his stride was strong and sure. He trembled as the officer gazed at the jail, his eyes passing over him casually. He knew that De las Fuentes had not yet been informed of the shooting. When the door of the comandante’s office closed, he shrank back into the corner of the cell. In the silence, his hearing seemed to have acquired an almost unnatural level of acuteness: all the sounds of the plaza – the soldiers’ footsteps, of the chirping of birds, the rumble of coaches, the neighing of horses - seemed greatly amplified. He seemed to feel his heart racing. He imaged himself before a scaffold or even a firing squad. He did not want to die. He was only thirty years old. He hated Margarita Pérez; he hated Capitán de las Fuentes; and most of all, he hated the Fox, El Zorro, for his predicament.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 33](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante33.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	33. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
****

Chapter Thirty-three

A traveler made his way into the pueblo of Los Angeles. He dismounted outside the General Store in order to ask if anyone knew the residence of a Felix Muñoz in town. The storekeeper, Roberto Cárdenas, was helpful. He carefully and politely inquired as to the traveler’s business and was informed that the stranger was a relative visiting a family member. Señor Cárdenas welcomed the newcomer and pointed out the way. He was much too discreet a man to say anything further, knowing that the man would learn of the family tragedy much too soon.

So it was that just a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door of the fine home of Felix Muñoz, the merchant. The servant who answered the door was apprehensive, fearing the return of soldiers or worse. As the door was opened, the servant beheld a man of moderate height in a long cape of blue and a hat of the same color with a dashing white plume that covered half of the brim. The man wore riding boots and light wool black trousers. The fine quality of his clothing and dignified demeanor impressed the serving man. The stranger bowed ceremoniously and said he was inquiring after the master of the house. The servant gestured the man in and asked him to wait after inquiring, "Whom should I say is calling, Señor?"

"Juan Muñoz," the man replied handing his hat to the servant and removing his cloak

The servant bowed in respect and shortly returned with the gray-haired Felix Muñoz. Felix looked exhausted but his expression was one of expectation and surprise. As he entered the sala, he saw a man with his back turned looking out the iron-grated window onto the inner patio. The man’s brown hair was pulled back into an old fashioned "ponytail." "Juan!" exclaimed Felix and rushed forward.

The other man turned with a smile and opened his arms to accept the embrace of the other. "Felix! My brother! How long it has been!"

Felix Muñoz almost wept. He then took the other’s shoulders in his hands and looked him over. "It has been much too long, but then we are separated by an ocean and a continent. How have you been, Juan? What are you doing here in California? Have you left His Excellency’s service?"

"No, Felix, I am still in his service. But what is this? You look ill. Come, have a seat!"

Felix allowed his brother to guide him to a comfortable chair. Juan then took a seat opposite him and pulled it up close. "The ship arrived in San Pedro just yesterday. There were too few conveyances and I had to come on horseback. I have only now arrived," he explained. "I’m afraid that I have appeared long before the mails. And you?"

"Oh, Juan," moaned Felix. "You could not have arrived at a more necessary and more terrible time. It must be Heaven that sent you to me at this, my most heartbreaking time."

"Not your wife, Ines?"

"No. I…." Felix was distracted a moment by a knock at the door. He heard the voice of the servant and held up a hand and listened.

A moment later, the servant entered the room. "An urgent message for you, Don Felix," he said. On the silver tray a note had been deposited.

"This is the message?" Felix asked in an agitated manner. He looked apprehensively at the silver tray that was thrust in his direction. He took a big breath and reached for a card. He gave his brother a glance, broke the wax seal open and read the message. He closed the note and put it back on the tray. He stood up, now with some determination that belied his tired looks. "Please forgive me, Juan, but I must leave right away."

He turned to the servant. "Please take Don Juan to the guest room and tend to all his needs." He turned back to his brother. "Have you eaten at all today?"

"Yes, I have," Juan replied. "Felix, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Not right now. When I return, I will explain everything," the thin man responded. He allowed the servant to help him into his black frock coat and accepted the proffered tall grey hat. In another moment, he was out the door.

Juan went to the window and watched his brother hurry along the street toward the plaza.

He turned back towards the servant. "What is your name, my good man?"

"Manuel, Señor," replied the man.

"I have dined already, Manuel, but the long ride here gave me a great thirst. Would it be convenient at this time for a cup of tea with mint?"

"Of course, Señor, any time is convenient."

"Thank you for your courtesy," Juan replied. He watched the servant place the tray on a nearby table and hurry away to comply with his request. It was just what Juan wanted. He was a man of action. Something serious was happening with his brother and he was determined to find out what he could even in the first minutes of his arrival. As soon as the steps faded away, he walked over to the tray and flicked open the note. On the outside he noted the engraved name – Palacios and Son – Solicitors. On the inside was written: Don Felix - Urgent. Come as soon as you can. Maximillian."

********************

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes turned back toward the big sergeant as the man closed the door. "What would you like to report to me here in my inner sanctum?" he inquired in a pleasant tone of voice.

García hemmed and hawed. He decided to speak of official matters first. "Well, Capitán, it is like this. After you disappeared out at the lake when you were chasing Señor Enríquez, there was a big search. All the people from the pueblo, many vaqueros and rancheros came out to join the army to look for you."

"Ah," Francisco nodded. "And did you capture the fugitive?"

"No, Comandante, we did not. And we did not find you either. We looked everywhere, Capitán – in the meadows, all through the rocks. We even rode out into the lake. We called your name for hours. All I found was your hat. Later that disappeared, but it looks like you are wearing it now." García pointed a fat finger at the officer’s black hat with the white band.

"Please continue."

"Well, everyone was looking for you. We came back after dark with torches. Many people volunteered to help look for you, even the prisoner, Señor Robello volunteered." García hesitated when he said that name and De las Fuentes understood at once.

"What you are trying to say, Sergeant, is that Señor Robello took advantage of the situation and escaped."

The fat sergeant raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Why, yes, that is exactly what happened." He looked puzzled. "But, how did you know what I was going to say?" Then he remembered. "Oh, pardon me, Comandante, I forgot. You have foresight and even insight, and sometimes it comes to you, even in the middle of the night \- just like you said when you first arrived, mi Capitán."

Francisco chuckled at that. It was almost amazing that the sergeant would remember such a trite exchange. Then he cleared his throat. "Has anyone seen Señor Robello since that time?"

"No, Comandante," answered García. "But afterwards, Señor Angel Ledesma came to visit me at the inn." The sergeant furrowed his brow. "One night, Corporal Reyes and I were having refreshment. Angel walked up to us. He told me that he felt very bad about something he had to tell me. I gave him some wine to ease his pain. Then he told me that Tomás told him that he had to escape because if you, Comandante, did not come back, he would get no justice from Capitán Monastario. Angel said he had more to tell. I gave him more wine. He said that Tomás told him that he had to look out for his own interests because he did not want to die in some mine as a slave somewhere. Then Angel drank all of my wine." García looked downcast remembering the empty wine bottle.

"It sounds as if Señor Robello let his fears get the better of him," Francisco commented. "One does not normally get sentenced to slave labor as punishment for disturbing the peace and fighting in a tavern."

"Of course, you are right, Capitán," García responded, "but sometimes, if Capitán Monastario does not like someone, then perhaps things do not happen so… normally….begging your pardon, Comandante."

"I see," the officer frowned. "It is a fact that Señor Robello would have not remained much longer in jail. He was working off his fines. The vaquero, Señor Ávila, even returned the fine he was awarded to help him and Señor Ledesma meet their obligations."

"Benito did **_that_**?" García was impressed. Perhaps he should ask the vaquero sometime to meet him at the inn for wine, he thought. If Benito gave no thought of giving away ten pesos, maybe he would not mind buying a little wine as well.

"Now, what are your other concerns?" asked De las Fuentes interrupting his thoughts. He took off his hat and put it on the wall hook. He turned back toward the nervous soldier.

It was the moment García dreaded most of all. How could he tell the Comandante about the Señorita Margarita? What would the Capitán do?

The sergeant opened his mouth. "Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, Comandante, but…" he began.

There was a sudden knock at the door of the Oficina del Comandante. García looked relieved at the interruption.

"Enter," De las Fuentes raised his deep baritone voice.

A soldier entered and saluted. "There is a man here to see you, Capitán, and there are several others at the _entrada_ asking to see you."

"Let them come," the officer responded. His demeanor became one of benevolence as he watched who came in through the door. It was Angel Ledesma.

"Ah, Señor Ledesma, what can I do for you?" asked the Comandante.

"Capitán, permit me to say welcome back," Angel began. "I heard about your return to the pueblo and hurried here at once. I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. "Here, Comandante, is all the money I owe you for the fines." He held out the bag to the officer. "It was a good thing you were gone so long because I was able to work hard, just like you said I should."

De las Fuentes took the bag solemnly. "It is good of you to come and I thank you. " He strode over to the desk, opened it, took out a ledger, duly filled in the amount, and noted that the man had paid all his fines. He took out the small wooden chest bound in iron, opened it and deposited only some of the money. He walked back over to the vaquero who held his hat in his hands. "Señor Ledesma, you should know that Señor Ávila returned the ten pesos he was awarded by the hearing officer and wished to apply it toward your fine and that of Señor Robello. As such, I am returning five of the pesos to you. In addition, there has been a review of the level of fines for civil disturbances and they were revised, so an additional ten pesos is being returned to you."

The vaquero could hardly believe his good luck. "Thank you, Comandante," he beamed upon receiving the coins. "My wife will be very happy. She will also pray for you." He immediately dropped the coins back in the bag.

"Will you not count them?" De las Fuentes asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Angel hesitated. Then a slow smile spread over his features. "There is no need, Capitán," he declared. "As long as you are Comandante, no one ever has to count."

There was another knock at the door and García opened it. The men standing outside waited as the vaquero bowed his way out of the office.

"Gentlemen, won’t you come in?" asked De las Fuentes cordially. "It seems that there is

much to catch up on today." The men offered their handshakes and words of welcome as they entered and Francisco acknowledged each one – Don Diego de la Vega, Don César Rodríguez, and …" he was introduced to the lawyer, "Señor Andrés Franco."

Diego de la Vega watched as the lawyer was introduced. He thought briefly how lucky he had been, traveling the road as El Zorro, to discover from a peon that De las Fuentes had returned to the pueblo. It saved him a long and fruitless ride far from the town. He quickly diverted his trip back to the pueblo and arrived at the cuartel the same time as Don César did. He wanted to be present to gage the prince’s reaction to the news of his fiancée and to act, if it became necessary, to prevent more tragedy, for who could know if even the most level-headed of men might crack under such events.

César Rodríguez knew from the capitán’s calm and friendly greeting that he did not yet know the news. He looked pointedly at García with raised eyebrows. The sergeant did not avoid his gaze and shook his head slowly and sadly. Diego did not miss a thing, neither did the lawyer.

"It is good to see you back and so well," Diego began. "All of us have been very worried about you, Capitán, and it is with much relief that we see that you have returned to us."

César nodded in agreement. "We have been thinking that a small celebration would be fitting to welcome you back," he suggested. "Perhaps a music concert? You could be included in our performance as well – a performance in which I, Señor José Escobedo, and other leading talents would join. It would be a grand affair with only our most professional musicians, of course. Everyone could enjoy a night of culture and joy."

Francisco was quiet a moment before responding. "Thank you, gentlemen, for your sincerest best wishes on my behalf." He paused. His next statement would be difficult for him and he did not wish to cause offense to these distinguished men. He knew that only Diego would understand what he had to say. He turned to the respected maestro. He knew César’s proposal had been heartfelt and offered in a manner of friendship and respect, but Francisco was who he was. "I am honored by your sentiments, Don César," he replied, "but, we do not put ourselves on public display."

There was a strange silence in the room at his words. César looked as if he had misunderstood what the comandante said for his expression became one of uncertainty. Only Diego nodded, almost imperceptivity. The lawyer’s jaw dropped. The implication of what the officer said opened his eyes. In an instant, Andrés Franco understood that De las Fuentes was no imposter, but someone much more important. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors that had gone around the pueblo after all.

Diego reacted immediately. He turned towards Don César as if to reassure him. "I am sure that once Capitán de las Fuentes has set all his affairs in order, that a social event would be an appropriate way for us to celebrate his return." The comandante nodded and smiled in an encouraging way to the stumped musician.

Before César could reply, there was another knock at the door.

"Enter," ordered the officer. To his surprise, Pilar Montoya and Doctor Aguilera stepped through the doorway together. Francisco could have not imagined a more unlikely twosome. He smiled in greeting and held out his hand to the doctor who took it and commented, "I am gratified to see you have recovered the use of your leg, Capitán."

"I must give credit to Gray Feather and to this most remarkable lady for her faith in miracles," Francisco replied, indicating the gypsy. He took her hand and kissed it. "I sincerely regret that I did not have the opportunity to thank you for your selfless dedication to my renewal."

Pilar came to the point. It was her way. "Has anyone told you about Señorita Margarita?" she asked him.

His eyebrows rose slightly. "No, I have no unusual news about her. However, I am intending to visit her shortly and to reassure her of my recovery and good health." He paused. "Is there something I should know? Is she, perhaps, ill from worry? She is a very sensitive young lady."

There was that strange silence again. Everyone looked at the doctor and then at the gypsy. "Could you please come with us, Capitán de las Fuentes?" the doctor requested formally. "There is something that you need to know."

Francisco felt a chill. He looked at the men and woman who faced him with such serious expressions. He, too, could be very direct. Very slowly, he looked each one of them over as if trying to discover a clue. His light-blue eyes flashed in a way they had never seen before. In his deep baritone he asked, "Does this have anything to do with Señor Muñoz’s arrest?"

García began, "Capitán, I was going to…." He did not finish.

Francisco looked grim. He did an about face toward the door. He took his hat off the wall hook and put it on his head. He then turned back towards his guests. "Where is she now?" He steeled himself for the answer that might come but here was a disturbing lack of response in the room. No one seemed to know quite how to answer him. García hastened to open the door for him. Perhaps leaving the room would bring forth the reaction he sought.

His quick steps galvanized his visitors. They, too, followed quickly out the door. Diego was the first. He immediately placed himself next to the comandante in case he headed toward the jail and its prisoner, but De las Fuentes headed toward the gates of the cuartel.

Doctor Aguilera and Pilar Montoya hurried to catch up to the small man. "Don Francisco, she is at my office," the graying physician told him.

Pilar was at his elbow. "We have been caring for her. She asks for you constantly," she added. "I told her that you were healing and would soon join her. The news has brought her much joy."

Francisco felt a sense of relief in her reply; nevertheless he fired off more questions. "What happened and when did it happen?"

Pilar wanted him to see Margarita first before telling him the entire story. It might keep his rage under control and focus his attention on her, not on Salvador. In order to keep the men from replying, she kept up her chatter. "Her mother has been staying at her side. Half of the pueblo turned out to wish her well. You would be proud to know of all the people who love her."

But Diego knew that the prince was a man who valued the truth, no matter how painful it might be. "Your Excellency," he said quietly. "Last week, before the earthquake struck, Señorita Margarita was shot by Señor Muñoz. I was in the plaza with Doctor Aguilera when it happened. He shot her because she refused his marriage proposal again."

They were half-way to the doctor’s office. Francisco stopped in his tracks. "He did **_what_**?" he asked in anger and astonishment. He grasped the hilt of his saber and it came out almost half way of the scabbard before he snapped it back in place again. The sliding Toledo steel sang and seemed to reverberate around the plaza. "Margarita and I are betrothed! How dare that useless rascal presume upon our desires!"

"No one knew of your betrothal, Capitán," breathed the doctor from behind them. "I myself only learned of it after treating the señorita."

De las Fuentes shook his head. "Please do me the courtesy of explaining this," he asked in disbelief. "It is true that I was absent immediately after my proposal had been accepted, but would not the situation become general knowledge from the family?" He began to move again across the plaza again if only from the agitation and concern.

"Let me explain, Capitán," César offered, walking next to the comandante. "You see, after the señorita was disinherited by her father, she came to live with me and my family. Her mother, who had been badly beaten by her husband, also came to stay with us." He knew that the officer knew these facts already. "My wife and I felt that both ladies needed rest and diversion away from their, uh, situations. We kept them secluded in my home. It took Señora Pérez many days to recover her health. Of course, the girls and our family knew of your engagement, but we thought it best to wait for your return to make these decisions. Because of these considerations, especially about the ladies, we wished to concentrate on their well-being. Afterwards, we took them out to visit the Villas and to socialize among other friends. We tried to keep them from worrying about you, Comandante, and both of them were very concerned about your disappearance. After many days, my wife sent our daughter, Juanita and Margarita out shopping at the general store. When they were returning home, Margarita was accosted by Señor Muñoz. That is when the shooting occurred."

"I remember your great generosity to these ladies, Don César," Francisco responded in a courteous manner, "and I shall never forget this." He turned to the doctor once again. "Is Margarita still alive?"

Everyone responded to the question in chorus with an emphatic "Sí" and Aguilera added, "She is getting the best possible care, both mine and Señora Montoya’s."

The gypsy smiled at that because up to that point she felt the doctor considered her an adversary. "Capitán, she asks for you constantly, it is why we want you to come to her right away."

The group was now outside the office and De las Fuentes stopped before the door. He turned to face everyone once again before entering. "I want you to tell me the truth," he said quietly and with much intensity. "I want you to tell me if she is dying."

*********************

Padre Felipe came upon him quite suddenly and he looked up startled because it occurred to him that he had been too preoccupied with his thoughts here among the graves. It was so unlike him to be caught off guard.

"Joaquín," the priest sighed. "Was it you that took the candelabra from the chapel the other day?"

The man with the dark tangled hair and white teeth rose to his feet and gave the priest a mild smile. "Sí, Padre. I’m borrowing it. I shall return it quite soon."

"Joaquín, Joaquín," Felipe continued. "I would have gladly given you my consent for your use of candlesticks, but why must you continuously take things without first asking? Even if you agree to return them when you are finished, people quite naturally believe you are stealing. If you asked first, no one would come to the wrong conclusions about you."

It was an old refrain for the ex-vaquero. "You have a greater faith in your flock than I do, Padre. I find that the people here do not want to understand and refuse to give permission no matter what I say. So, I do what I must."

The priest only shook his head at that. "Every man must answer to his conscience, my son. I know you do not steal; at least I believe that you do not steal. Can you not tell me why you are doing these things? Surely, there is a reason. Perhaps something is troubling you? At least I would be able to say to the authorities, should it come up, that yes, I knew you had ‘borrowed’ these items, but I was certain there was no harm intended."

"Speaking of the authorities, did you know that the comandante returned this afternoon?" Joaquín asked, changing the subject. "I am not worried about him, for myself that is, but I think you should be."

"Capitán de las Fuentes is known as a just man," Felipe commented. "He will not persecute you for what you have done."

"I don’t mean me – about what he might do to me," Joaquín insisted. "I mean that you need to be worried about how he will become a man, like any other man, when the cards are all out on the table. He has searched for meaning in his life after so many years of despair, and he found it in the Señorita Pérez . Now, he has returned to Los Angeles only to find that happiness snatched from him by a worthless rich kid who isn’t worth the dirt under his feet. All those fine notions about ‘justice’ and ‘honor’ and ‘forgiveness’ will wash away like the tears he will shed in torrents. When that is all done with, there will be a gibbet and Salvador Muñoz will hang. Los Angeles will cheer his hanging; their cheers will ease his conscience – and everyone else’s too. That is, everyone except old man Muñoz. He’ll have to live in a community that will only remember him as the father of a murderer of a young girl whose only crime was to refuse to marry him."

Felipe listened to the man who stood before him and spoke with such passion. He felt the sincerity, concern, and even despair in the words of Joaquín Enríquez. But he asked the question not merely from curiosity, but to gauge the man himself. "Do you like Don Francisco, Joaquín?"

The thin man looked amused. "Would it really matter if I do or do not?" He paused and thought a moment, then looked into the distance, beyond the walls of the church graveyard. "Yes, I like him, but don’t ask me why. Maybe because he’s the only one who ever bothered to ask me anything about myself; maybe he’s the only one who never condemned me first without trying to find out why; maybe he’s the only person in authority to ever give me some respect. I don’t want respect because people fear me; I want respect because I am a man. He gave me that, so I give him that respect, too." He looked up at the priest with a small smile. "Funny, isn’t it? If anyone ever called him out, I’d volunteer to be his second. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else."

"Don Francisco is like that, Joaquín. I think that deep inside, you realize that the kind of qualities he has are what you want most men to have because they are qualities that you yourself advocate, yet deny yourself in action. As for Salvador Muñoz, I will pray for him." Felipe began to walk toward the gate. He turned back to the fugitive. "By the way, Joaquín, I think you are too pessimistic. There is something else that you have forgotten and that is the power of love. You will find that this pueblo has more of that than you might have realized."

As the gate closed behind the padre, Joaquín Enríquez turned back and sat down on a stone bench. He put his head in his hands. He did not want to think very much about what the padre said. He had to think of what he would do next. His work was almost at an end and then, he would leave Los Angeles forever.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 34](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante34.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	34. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-four**

Margarita was dreaming. In her dream she was in a garden with flowers of all colors – reds, yellows, violets, pinks, oranges, whites, and crimson. Some were in pots; others grew in the center of the walkway, or hung elegantly from the walls. In the center of the garden was a grand piano. She saw herself playing the piano, surrounded by her friends. The sun was shining and birds were singing in accompaniment to the music, fluttering their wings in their exuberance, stretching their stick-like legs. She stopped playing and suddenly felt like dancing. She stood up to find a partner, looking around, somehow vaguely expecting someone, someone who looked like Francisco de las Fuentes. The music should have stopped, but the piano continued to play by itself, the keys moving as if she had never taken her fingers away.

A figure moved in through the gate into the garden. It was her father. He threatened to have the piano taken away. **_You can’t take way the piano_** , she thought, **_not when it’s playing by itself_**. **_Couldn’t he see that?_**

Suddenly, the garden grew overcast. The sun disappeared and dark clouds formed overhead. She sat back down at the piano so that it could not be taken away again. Her friends seem to fade away as if into mists and the birds fled in a flock of browns. She was determined that no one would take the piano away because she refused to allow anyone near it. She waved a sheaf of musical compositions at her father to keep him away. He blustered from the other side of the rose bushes and she heard her mother weeping in the back ground.

Margarita heard all these things, saw each little act unfold with perfect clarity. But she had little time to think about what it could mean. Then, someone called her name in a harsh tone. She turned her head. Salvador Muñoz was there by the piano, mocking her, insulting her, trying to grab the sheets of music. She hit him with the sheets that transformed themselves into flower vases that shattered as she threw them. He pulled out a gun and shot her again and again. She fell to the ground thinking, **_How many times will he shoot me before I die_**? She kept falling toward the ground but never quite reached the dirt. There were the echoing sounds of pistol shots. Darkness began to surround her until there was only a thick fog... She searched for Francisco but could not find him. She panicked as everyone disappeared and she found herself alone. She called out with her mind – **_Francisco, help me, save me!_** She called out to him again and again – **_Francisco, help me, save me!_** She thought she saw him in the distance and she held out her hands towards him, imploring him to hurry, but she heard nothing but the mocking voice of Salvador. She called and called as if for an eternity.

He knelt by the rough wooden bed and took one of her hands in both of his, gently caressing and soothing it, then kissing it softly. He whispered her name at first, – **_Margarita, Querida Margarita_**. He watched her head move, her lips attempt to utter a sound and he said her name aloud. She did not awaken. Francisco de las Fuentes put her hand down and moved the tips of his fingers of his right hand to her forehead, gently allowing them to cascade down the side of her face. **_Margarita, dear_** , he repeated with more force in his deep baritone. He caressed her long, loose hair.

This time she heard his voice in her dream and it was next to her, crystal clear. She felt the warmth of his touch. The demons of dreams reluctantly released her from their grasp and she awoke, gradually opening her eyes, blinking in the light, slowly focusing on the voice that called her from the realm of darkness up to the light, into the present.

Margarita felt his presence before she saw his face. Still coming into consciousness, her words now took on force. "Francisco, Francisco, help me," she called out as loud as she could, but the small man next to her on one knee only heard a whisper.

"Margarita, dearest," he repeated and kissed her again, this time on the lips, "I am here, don’t be afraid."

Finally, her eyes come to rest on his face. She saw the familiar light-blue eyes and the encouraging smile under his moustaches.

"Francisco" she repeated.

"I’m here, dear."

"Is it really you, or am I dreaming again?" Before he could answer, she begged "Don’t leave me, don’t go away."

"I am here, Margarita. I won’t go away again," he promised. "Feel my hand," while caressing hers; "Feel my kiss," and kissed her lips.

She smiled faintly, wishing the kiss could last longer. "I’m so afraid."

"I am with you. Why are you afraid?" he asked in a mild tone.

"I’m afraid I’m going to die. I’m afraid that my dream of finding you, of finding happiness will die, too." There was the sting of tears in her eyes.

"You are not going to die, my Darling. Doctor Aguilera and Señora Montoya are taking good care of you," the small man in the blue and white uniform assured her.

"I feel like I’m going to die anyway, Francisco. I’m being punished for not obeying my parents. I’m being punished for loving music better than anything. I will die before I can find happiness. Salvador shot me so I will never be happy, so I can never marry you."

"You are not going to die, Sweetheart," he told her. "Salvador Muñoz is under arrest in the cuartel. He is behind bars. He cannot stop us from marrying. Look here, feel my ring upon your finger. Do you not feel it?" He brought her hands together very carefully and with much gentleness.

She felt her left hand with her right. "Yes, I feel it," she whispered. "We are betrothed."

"I have good news, Margarita. The gypsy and the Indians cured my leg. I can walk again," Francisco smiled. "I wanted you to be the first to know. We will dance at our wedding. I will take you to Court and we will whirl as if we have the wings of the angels."

She smiled at that but began to close her eyes again. "I feel so cold. Hold me, Francisco."

He adjusted the blanket, tucking it carefully about her neck. Then, he put his cheek next to hers, his head almost on the pillow and caressed her hair, kissing her ear, the line of her jaw, her neck, murmuring his love. The room grew quiet again and outside the window came the sound of birds calling to each other and the rustle of leaves in the branches of the trees.

*****************

Don Alejandro de la Vega learned at the cuartel that the comandante was at the doctor’s office. He stood talking to Sergeant García at the gates of the garrison. The white bearded don asked the foremost question in his mind. "How is the Capitán taking the news, Sergeant?"

"The comandante is a very brave man, Don Alejandro," García told him, "but he is very upset." The big man reconsidered his words. "As a matter of fact, I would say he is very angry. I have never seen him angry before. I would hate to be in the shoes of Salvador Muñoz, but they would not fit anyway."

It was this anger that concerned Alejandro, not that the prince did not have the right to be angry. It was where and how that anger might be channeled. He hurried across the plaza and met Diego who was just stepping outside the doctor’s office at the pharmacy.

"Diego, my son, how is His Excellency taking the situation with Señorita Margarita?"

Diego shrugged at times like this. "Well, Father, he is composed, just the way one would expect of such a man. But what is to come, I do not know."

"At least that is good for now. But what will come is on the minds of many men. What will be next is the trial and punishment. Surely, this will test everyone’s commitment to all the principles they hold dear."

"This is not just about the comandante – it is about all of our neighbors as well," Diego pointed out. "A vigilante mob already pursued Salvador the same way they did the Indians."

Alejandro nodded. "I only hope that we will not see a repeat performance of that kind of behavior. I would like to think that these men would learn from the first lesson, but given the opportunity, some men wish to take matters into their own hands. It only makes things worse. Will emotion ride roughshod over reason and a duty to act in a just manner, especially in matters that concern one of our neighbors, Don Felix?"

Inside the pharmacy, Francisco opened the door of the little room. He asked the gypsy and doctor to come in. After he closed the door, he told them that Margarita has insisted that she is going to die. "No offense intended, learned doctor," the officer said politely to the gray-bearded physician, "but I want Margarita moved. Is it safe to move her?"

A few minutes later, the door opened again and the officer asked Don César into the room as well. César was hoping for better news.

"Don César, may I call upon your hospitality once again?" Francisco asked courteously. "It is our opinion that Margarita can be moved carefully. I would like her to be in more cheerful surroundings that would be more conducive to her healing and mental well-being. This seems too melancholy a place for her to think positive thoughts."

César understood at once. "Say no more, Don Francisco," he said, nodding and also using a more informal way of addressing the comandante to let him know he had not taken offense at his refusal to perform publicly. "My family and I welcome Margarita back into our home. Her mother is still staying with us and, we hope, will continue to do so."

There was no shortage of volunteers to move the young lady onto a stretcher and move her back to the Rodríguez residence. Don César left ahead of everyone in order to prepare the room for the sick girl. He understood that Margarita should be put in a decent bed and had the servants move the one from her room down to the sala. The household was a bustle of activity, and not just within. Several hours after that the word spread that the young lady would be moving back to Don César’s, two carpenters showed up at the front door with an item they said was for the young lady. Don César went to the door and met the two workmen who bowed at his appearance. He knew them from the local furniture maker’s and asked about their delivery.

"It’s like this Don César," one of the young men told the musician. "All of us workers wanted to do something for the Señorita Pérez. We thought that this might help due to the situation she will be in." He and the other man removed some sacking from around the items.

César was delighted when he saw the gifts. "These room dividers will be perfect," he beamed.

The workmen nodded, pleased by the maestro’s smile. "A lady like Señorita Pérez will need some privacy in such a large room, and if this will help, we are glad to donate them."

"Allow me to give you something for all your hard labor," César began reaching into his pocket, but the workmen only smiled and backed out the door. "For the señorita," they insisted and left. César thought what a lucky girl Margarita was, having the love of men she didn’t even know.

****************

While Margarita was being transported to the Rodríguez, Francisco walked beside the stretcher. Helping to carry it was Diego de la Vega and Roberto Cárdenas, the storekeeper. One he reached the home of Don César, he and his retinue were greeted at the door by Ramona, Ismaida, Juanita and the female servants. They hustled all the men out of the way once the señorita was helped into bed by the doctor, the gypsy, and a mid-wife who acted as a nurse.

"There is much for us to do, so all of you please come back later," Ramona announced.

The men departed the room and their steps led them back to the patio just outside the front door. The comandante thanked everyone for accompanying the señorita to the home and for their help.

Don Diego walked with the officer back to the cuartel. "As I understand it, Don Francisco, this change of residence should do Señorita Margarita much good," he offered. "She will be there with her mother and with her best friends."

"I hope so, Don Diego," Francisco responded. "She seems possessed of a great melancholy, even a great fatalism, I never suspected."

"You know that the señorita was, for many years, badgered by her father to marry and it has taken a great toll upon her to hold up against such pressure," Diego commented.

"This I understand," Francisco replied. "But now, unlike any previous time, she should see her dreams coming true at last. There is no more pressure, no more unhappiness. I am greatly unsettled by her belief that she is being punished so that she cannot attain this happiness."

"Your pardon, Don Francisco," Diego reminded him delicately, "but you yourself once felt this as well, that there was some higher power punishing you for your opposition to the king. Is it possible that Margarita somehow believes the same thing?"

The man in the blue and white military uniform looked thoughtful. "It is true I mentioned this to Margarita some time ago. I hope she is not applying it to herself. This may be a powerful form of self-punishment. I am not sure such thoughts would be easy to overcome."

"Do you have any ideas about how to help this situation, if I may ask?" Diego inquired.

The small officer looked up at the tall don with a smile. "I would like to show you something at the cuartel I think will help. But first, I still have a few official duties, especially regarding the recent death of Señor Castañeda."

"I think I may be of help in this regard," Diego volunteered. "He has no family here in Los Angeles, but he may have relatives in México. The best one to ask about this is his compadre, Miguel Cisneros. Doctor Aguilera could send a certificate of death to the proper authorities in Monterey and ask that a copy be forwarded to México."

"Since his death occurred under my command," the Capitán remarked, "I will send a letter that states his death was accidental, the body recovered and given a proper burial. I hope this will be of some small consolation to whatever family he may have."

"Not many officials do even this, Comandante," Diego responded. "It is one of your characteristics that have endeared you to our community."

The small officer was silent as they entered the gates of the cuartel. His eyes passed over the jail on the far side of the interior before they entered the comandante’s office. Francisco closed the door behind his guest.

Diego wondered what the prince was thinking and watched the small man hang up his hat on the hook by the wooden door. He did not fail to notice the capitán’s hard look to the prisoner in the jail.

"I am afraid that this may change regarding Señor Muñoz," Francisco replied frankly in response to Diego’s comment. "I find it an act of extreme cowardice for that young man to attempt the murder of so innocent a young lady as Señorita Margarita. He has stacked the cards against himself by his actions."

"This is true, Comandante," Diego said quietly. "The most difficult task for anyone, especially you, will be to conduct this trial as you would any other. To be objective, rather than subjective, is a task that I myself would not like to face. I do not envy you, Don Francisco."

Francisco nodded, then cleared his throat. "If you will do me the courtesy of waiting here a moment, I would like to retrieve a special ‘medicine’ which I hope will help the situation with Señorita Margarita." With that, he disappeared into his quarters. A few minutes later he emerged with a long rectangular box. He placed it on his desk and looked up at the young don with an almost mischievous look.

Diego was curious when he saw the box and he stepped up to the desk with his eyebrows raised. He smiled as the officer opened the hinged box and pulled aside a soft cloth. Within the box was a violin and bow. "Ah," Diego nodded. "Now I understand, Comandante. Your ‘medicine’ is Music."

*****************

The home of Don César was already bustling with activity. Ismaida played some familiar airs on the piano, glancing back at Margarita in the bed. The sick girl tied to smile, especially when Don César slid onto the piano stool and played wildly and frantically, making all sorts of laughable mistakes that sent Ismaida and Juanita into peals of laughter.

María brought in bright orange California poppies and placed them by the bed. They were a gift from Padre Felipe, she announced, who would be visiting her later that afternoon. They joined the purple and yellow chrysanthemums from the flower vendor.

Pilar Montoya took her turn at the bed, holding Margarita’s hands and reading the future in her palms. "Look at this, Señorita," she declared holding one of the girl’s hands face up, "Here is your Fate Line where it crosses the Heart Line – for you, this means a long life. Here is your Heart Line. Let us see what it says. Yours is straight. Do you know what that means? It means that for you, only the best is good enough. It is for you to choose your lover, not for anyone else to choose for you. Oh, so that’s how you caught Don Francisco!"

Margarita smiled weakly, not really sure whether she should believe the gypsy or not.

Late that afternoon, Diego de la Vega showed up with his guitar and sat near the bed. Everyone gathered around the young don who wore his best blue trousers, short blue vest, a pure white shirt with a black tie and blue jacket. "What is the best thing to sing about?" he asked with a smile. "Why, there’s nothing better in all the world to sing about than love!"

Juanita and Ismaida and María Pérez listened to his playing as if enchanted. Diego played and sang a popular, cheerful song he hoped would lift his old friend’s spirits:

When the strolling minstrels sing

They sing of the gaviota –

A pure white gull that flies o’er the summer seas -

And my own true love is like the gaviota

Like the gull in flight, she dances gracefully

Everyone joined in the chorus:

Fly, gaviota, fly

Dance, señorita, dance

Gypsy spirit, oh so wild and free

And my own true love is like the gaviota

Like the gull in flight, she dances gracefully.

Everyone clapped when Diego finished singing. Margarita nodded, closed her eyes and looked pale. Diego looked up at Don César with concern. The maestro could only shake his head a little sadly.

Diego walked over to the bed and knelt next to it. "Margarita, don’t give up hope," he told the young woman.. "All of your friends are here with you today to give you our love and to encourage you to believe that all is going to be well with you."

Margarita opened her eyes. "Thank you, Diego. You have always been a good friend." She almost said it as if it were a good-bye.

"I will continue to be your good friend, Margarita, now and for always," the young man responded with some force in his voice. "But I want you to show all of us that you are our good friend, too. You can do this by being determined to get well so that all of us can play music together. What harmony we can make, all of us together."

It was later that afternoon that Padre Felipe arrived. Before seeing the girl, Diego and César took him aside and explained their dilemma.

"Perhaps there is something you can say that will snap Margarita out of this melancholy," César said.

"I am very worried about the señorita," Diego added. "We have surrounded her with what she loves best - music and her friends - but nothing seems to be working."

"Let me see what I can do," Felipe responded. "Perhaps there is something that is burdening her that is not allowing her to feel wanted." With that, the priest disappeared behind the room dividers and sat next to the bed. Everyone else silently left the room and hoped the good padre could break the spell that made the atmosphere heavy and uncertain.

*****************

Two men showed up at the cuartel and asked permission to speak to the comandante. They were admitted immediately. Sergeant García was apprehensive as he knocked on the door and announced the name of the two visitors: "Licensiado Maximillian Palacios and Don Felix Muñoz."

Francisco de las Fuentes asked courteously for the men to enter his office.

The lawyer, Maximillian Palacios, was a heavy-set man with quick eyes that evaluated a situation quickly and efficiently. He had been very careful in ascertaining the comandante’s personality and the history of his relationship with Don Felix. He knew getting to the point would be the best policy in dealing with this comandante. He responded very politely to the officer’s greeting. "I am retained by the Muñoz family to represent the case of Salvador Muñoz, Capitán de las Fuentes," he said by way of introduction.

The officer shook his hand and also that of Don Felix Muñoz, who appeared quite shaken by the events.

"Please have a seat, gentlemen," the comandante offered. "I regret that we must meet under these circumstances."

"As do I," Don Felix replied in a tremulous voice. "You have no idea how much it pains me to have to be here. This has caused me so much grief, that I can hardly manage my emotions. Please forgive me."

"I understand," Francisco responded. "There is much grief on all sides and only yours exceeds my own."

"Your Excellency," Felix began. His hands shook and he suddenly fell to his knees before the officer. "Please, forgive me. Forgive me." The tears streamed down his face. "Will you give mercy to my boy?"

Both the comandante and Palacios helped the old man to his feet. Francisco was moved by the man’s grief but there was the fact of attempted murder, and there was the law. His duty was to uphold the law. "Please rise, please compose yourself, Don Felix," he asked.

The don nodded and sat down in the chair. He watched the officer go to a cabinet, open the door and take out three glasses. He poured some liquid into all three and offered a glass to the lawyer and to Don Felix. Both men accepted and sipped the brandy. Then the officer began to speak. Felix listened as the officer spoke in a calm and resolute tone.

"Don Felix, this is not your fault. Do not reprimand yourself so harshly."

The graying merchant shook his head. "Your Excellency, it ** _is_** my fault. It is my fault because I raised so dissolute a son. I closed by eyes to Salvador’s failings because he had been a favorite child. I spoiled him, gave him money for cards, clothes and horses. I never imagined that he would ever bring disgrace upon my family. I never imagined that he would ever try to harm Señorita Margarita. My wife and I love her like a daughter. We are truly horrified."

Francisco nodded for Felix’s benefit and there was a long silence.

"I would like to request your permission to speak to Salvador, if I may," Palacios asked, because this was the point of their visit. "We hope to find out what might have led to his actions."

Felix shook his head. "Gil, the flower vendor, said they were arguing at some length…"

The comandante decided to let them know how serious the case had become. "I am sorry to tell you that right now, there is no certainty that Señorita Pérez will survive the shooting. Her will to live seems to hang in the balance."

Felix put his hand to his head in despair. "I pray she will be able to recover," he whispered.

Francisco stood up. There was really nothing more he could do or say for the old man. "Don Felix, Señor Palacios, you have my permission to visit with your son and to prepare him for the upcoming trial. From here on out, the law will have to take its course."

****************

It was early that evening when Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes appeared with his wooden box at the residence of Don César Rodríguez’s home. Before he had a chance to explain what it was, Cesar and Diego took him aside.

"Don Francisco, there is something that we must tell you," César began. "Please come with me." He led the officer and Diego down the hall towards the back of the house and into the kitchen with its huge brick fireplace and hanging pots and pans. He closed the door. "Here we can speak without being overheard." He looked over at Diego and took a big breath. "You might know that Padre Felipe was here a short while ago. He spoke at length with Margarita."

The officer was silent. He did not ask any questions. He anticipated the worst.

Diego took up the slack in the conversation. "Padre Felipe confirmed what you have already said, Don Francisco," he explained. "Margarita thinks she is destined to die without finding happiness, without being able to marry you. The padre can not convince her otherwise. He told us that he has no explanation for why she feels this way."

An incredible sadness transformed the features of the small man who carried the mahogany box. "Then she will die by her own belief that she should die," he said sadly. "Not even I am able to convince her that she can get well." He paused and held up the box. "Nevertheless, I am here to play for her, and I will play as I have never done before. It is a small thing that I wish to share with her because it is something that I love. If this can give her even a brief moment of happiness and even inspire her to want to live, then I will play until I can no longer stand."

As the three men headed back up the hall toward the sala, Diego said to the small officer. "You know, Don Francisco, it is not such a small thing to share your love of music with Margarita. You are sharing with her much more than that; you are sharing life, happiness, and love. You and I know that such a thing can come to pass. Is there something that we are overlooking to convince her that this is possible?"

"I don’t know, Don Diego," Francisco admitted. "I told her about my home in Spain, and our plans to go to Court. I even described to her the cathedral that I hope we will be married in. She smiles as if imagining it and then she weeps as if she will never see anything I describe to her. I am at a loss to know what to do next."

"Do you wish us to leave you two together, Don Francisco?" asked César cautiously. "Or may we accompany you in any of the pieces you wish to play for Margarita?"

The comandante stopped. He smiled at the maestro. "Forgive me, Don César, for my past impudence. I would be honored if you would like to accompany me. Let’s see if our combined efforts can open the heart of Heaven for Margarita."

************

Diego lay in his four posted bed that night, thinking about the music concert for Margarita. Francisco de las Fuentes had sat in Diego’s chair by Margarita’s bed and told her that he had a surprise for her. He opened his box and showed her his violin. He told her ever so gently that he would like to play her some of the most popular tunes in Europe by the virtuoso, Niccolo Paganini whom he had seen perform in person. He lifted up the violin onto his left arm, tucked the end under his chin and began to play, softly and with great passion. The entire household grew silent listening to some of the most heartfelt romantic music anyone had ever heard.

María Pérez felt the tears pouring down her cheeks, for never had she heard such music played with such tenderness and sincerity. She thought of her own barren marriage and of how much she envied her daughter’s good fortune. She dabbed at her eyes constantly, smiling through her tears.

César had taken Diego aside and whispered to him that he had once heard that of all the musical instruments in the world, the violin was the one that came the closest to simulating a man making love to a woman. César confessed he had never heard anyone play the violin with the skill of Francisco de las Fuentes. Diego agreed.

After teatime, Diego approached the capitán and made a request. He would like to know if Don Francisco would play with him a favorite piece of music that required both guitar and violin. He would be greatly honored, he said.

They played Mozart, combining violin and guitar. Next came Beethoven with piano and violin. There were pieces by Scarlatti, Soler, and Albinoni, Bach and others. Don César, his wife Ramona, and even Ismaida and Juanita joined to create quartets, duos, and practically a small orchestra. But the girl in the bed kept her eyes closed.

When Diego arrived home that night, he was feeling depressed. He told Bernardo that he was very worried about the situation for both Francisco as well as Margarita. He told the mozo that there must be some way for Margarita to bounce back.

Bernardo nodded, looking a bit sad as well. He lifted his arms up as if playing a violin.

Diego nodded. "The comandante played violin and viola; even the flute. And what music

he made! Never have I heard such magnificence. Surely, Margarita must have been impressed – the rest of us most certainly were. Cannot music help heal her, Bernardo?"

Bernardo shook his head in the affirmative, thought a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

"After we exhausted ourselves, Don Francisco had some private words with the señorita," Diego continued. "When we were ready to leave, he told me he was going to see Padre Felipe. I have never seen him in such despair."

Diego turned all of this over in his mind, thinking about his own words to Don Francisco: "Is there something that we are overlooking to convince her that this is possible?"

He fell asleep with troubled thoughts. About two hours later, Diego sat up in bed with a start. "That’s it!" he exclaimed. "The answer is so simple. It is right under our nose and we have not seen it staring us in the face." He leaped out of bed.

Within minutes, a rider dressed in black made his way down to a secret cave beneath the De la Vega hacienda. A dark horse and rider emerged from the rocky cliffs and made their way through the underbrush. Soon the two became a dark shadow streaking along a dirt rode toward the pueblo of Los Angeles. Above them, a full moon shone with the intensity of day.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 35](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante35.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	35. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-five**

Capitán Enrique Monastario paced the office of the Comandante of El Presidio Real de San Francisco. The young goateed officer was very irritated. He had planned an immediate return to Los Angeles following the conference in Monterey. He could never rely on anyone but himself to keep the pueblo and its fickle population in line, he thought. He knew nothing of the officer who temporarily replaced him, but at least Sergeant García was not in charge.

At the end of the conference he was summoned to the office of the Viceroy and told that he was under orders to proceed to the Presidio in San Francisco. The point of the journey was to retrieve some official documents that were coming by special messenger. As a loyal and trusted officer of the Crown, he would at first deliver them to Monterey and then proceed back to his post in Los Angeles.

While he didn’t like the idea of being an "errand boy," both the Governor and Viceroy told him privately that only someone with his rank could be entrusted to procure and deliver some very important Crown directives that were to arrive by ship. Heavy seas had prevented the ship from making landfall at Monterey and so the vessel had proceeded to San Francisco. While his selection had soothed the ego and inflated the self-importance of the Comandante of Los Angeles, this meant traveling to the Presidio and waiting.

It was this waiting that began to annoy Capitán Monastario. He was a man of action whose restless nature would not bode well for too long. He took advantage of the situation to look over the fortress and did some publicity for himself and how well he ran affairs in Los Angeles. Obviously, these people in San Francisco, even in Monterey, had no appreciation of the situation in the south which involved not only rebellious subjects of the king, but that will-o-the-wisp bandit, Zorro. Treason showed its ugly head around almost every rock in Los Angeles.

Monastario was bored by the routine he encountered in San Francisco. He compared the simple fortress with his own – one made of plastered adobe, brush, and wood. He envied the dozen cannon of iron and bronze that had been installed after the building of the fortress by Jose Joaquín Moraga under the command of Capitán Juan Bautista de Anza less than fifty years earlier when the fortress had been established in March of 1776. Nevertheless, he was told by the commander there that the fortress had suffered greatly from numerous earthquakes and heavy rains. Much of his time was spent rebuilding this, Spain’s’ most important northern outpost of Alta California.

In the evenings, Monastario sat and listened to this officer tell him about the epic journey of 193 soldiers, women and children, who traveled from Tubac in the Spanish territory of Arizona to the San Francisco Bay, the setting up of the Mission in honor of Saint Francis of Assisi which was also called Mission Dolores named after the nearby springs and river. The mission had become quite prosperous, he was informed, and encompassed almost 125 acres of grazing cattle and sheep, orchards, and other food producing crops.

Monastario yawned and indicated how boring this routine must be for such an important outpost. Things were much more prosperous and volatile in the south, he postulated. Treason was everywhere and it was personified in the person of the outlaw bandit, El Zorro. Raids, robberies, and rebellions he faced off, almost personally, Monastario boasted.

In response to his rather self-glorifying monologues, the commander of San Francisco made the comment that, how strange it was that Los Angeles would be so subversive, when Californians as a whole were quite loyal to Spain. He noted that there was some debate that, should the colony of Mexico achieve independence, California would break from it and chart its own course as a loyal territory of Spain. In response, Monastario suggested that should such a remote eventuality take place, military officers might – with the guidance of officials in Monterey, of course, - take control and rule the land as a new nation. To Monastario’s disgust, the officer merely smiled and said his duty was to serve Spain and that others would make such decisions.

There was not much of a social milieu that suited Monastario either. There were many pretty girls from several nearby settlements and they often frequented the presidio. Most of them were illiterate, the capitán noted, unlike the ladies of Los Angeles, and many ended up marrying soldiers. A few were shockingly independent and opinionated, but that was due, no doubt, to allowing them to meddle in affairs of business and to disregard the authority of their husbands. Most of them could not afford a dowry for marriage anyway, Monastario learned with disgust. Los Angeles was beginning to look better and better the longer he stayed in San Francisco.

One of his last trips in the bay area was to inspect the fortress Castillo de San Joaquin, the sentry at the entrance of the bay. This fort was armed with an even greater number of cannon if the English or even the lone French pirate, Hipólito Bouchard **,** attacked the settlement. Bouchard had already attacked Monterey, Santa Barbara, and San Juan Capistrano, with limited success and coastal garrisons were on the alert. Monastario asked the commander of this fort if the Indians ever launched attacks. He was told that over a quarter of the Miwok and Olone Indians who inhabited the immediate area had died in a measles epidemic, the worst in all of California, back in 1806. Indians, he explained, were no threat to Spanish rule in northern California, and, he added, never had been.

At last, Capitán Monastario was told that a military ship was to arrive with provisions within a few days. He was eager to return to Monterey and from there begin the long journey back to Los Angeles.

****************

It was late at night when Felix Muñoz returned home. He was met at the door by his brother, Juan, who embraced him and led him to the sala. Juan poured out two glasses of wine and spoke softly to the grey-haired merchant who sat disconsolately in a chair.

"Ines told me what happened with Salvador," Juan began. "I cannot begin to tell you of my dismay. I only hope that my presence here can aid or comfort you in some way."

Felix looked up at his brother. "I cannot begin to tell you of my own bewilderment," he began. "Nothing seems to make any sense. No sense at all." He shook his head.

"What do you mean, Felix?" asked the other.

"My lawyer, Don Palacios, and I went to visit Salvador after obtaining the comandante’s permission," the don explained. "Salvador was hostile and unreceptive to our attempts to find out why he acted the way he did. He seems resentful of me, of Señorita Margarita, and even of the Comandante."

"May I ask who is the comandante?" asked Juan. "Has he mistreated Salvador in any way?"

"No, to the contrary. He is most courteous," the don told him. "His name is Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes. I believe Salvador hates him because Señorita Margarita has made it clear that she is in love with the capitán, not with him. She turned down Salvador’s marriage proposals many times. Several weeks ago, I told Salvador to stop pursuing the señorita because it was obvious that she is in love with this officer."

Juan seemed surprised, almost startled, to hear this news. "Does this officer call himself ‘Francisco de las Fuentes’? And is he in love with her?"

"Why, yes," Felix responded in a puzzled manner. "He has demonstrated this publicly. Actually, Juan, I was going to ask you if he is, perhaps, related to your master, the prince, General Alfonso de las Fuentes y Alarcón. Some people in the pueblo are already whispering that the capitán himself is a prince."

"Why do they think he is a prince?" asked Juan cautiously.

"Of course, it may be a rumor, but you would not believe the justice he has delivered to the pueblo. When he first arrived, there were trials of accused men. How happy Los Angeles has been under this commander! I don’t believe that anyone doubts that he puts the best interest of the pueblo first, even though he himself has suffered a grievous wound and was even kidnapped by Indians!"

Now, it was Juan’s turn to be amazed. "Wounded? Kidnapped by Indians?"

Felix smiled. "It’s a long tale to be told. Undoubtedly, the comandante will have many stories to tell to his children in the coming years. But, tell me this, Juan: what brings you to California? You are a long way from Spain."

Juan looked his brother in the eyes and said soberly, "I have come to California, Felix, to accompany my master home."

****************

The cuartel of the pueblo of Los Angeles, like the town itself, was dark. Only the torches burning outside the gates of the garrison and the two soldiers standing on guard duty before the massive oak entrance revealed that the pulse of life continued.

A figure in a black cloak, hat and mask astride a black stallion approached the cuartel. The stallion carefully made his way with quiet steps alongside a wall of the cuartel. The rider stopped him and looked up at a dark window. The horse shook his head once and waited patiently as a man in black stood up on his back and hoisted himself up to the dark window. Within seconds he landed lightly on his feet inside the room and made his way toward the bed. With the light of the moon shining brightly, he could see the bed was empty. He glanced toward the door and saw the faint flickering of candlelight in the office beyond.

In the Oficina del Comandante, a small, bearded man in a blue and white uniform with red trim sat at a desk with his head in his hands. Every once in a while, he looked up at his surroundings, his eyes passing over the plastered adobe walls. He reached for a glass of wine in a mug and sipped it. Then he rose from the desk for the innumerable number of times and paced the room. Finally he stopped before the window that overlooked the cuartel and uttered the words. "For the first time in my life, I will be executing a man for murder. Salvador Muñoz will hang."

Only silence greeted his words as he gazed out at the high walls of the cuartel. In the quiet of the night, a voice spoke with a stark clarity from behind him, "I think not, Comandante."

Francisco de las Fuentes recognized the voice at once and turned back towards his desk. There, a man in black stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. He was slowly shaking his head.

"Señor Zorro," the Comandante acknowledged, "we meet again."

"Yes, Capitán, we meet again."

"If you are here to tell me that I can not hang a man for murder, then I’m afraid we must part in our notion of justice," the officer responded, not defiantly, but with a sad finality.

"Capitán de las Fuentes," the man in black asked, "the señorita, is she still recuperating?"

"She does not seem to have the will to live," Francisco told El Zorro mournfully. "There seems to be nothing that I, her mother, nor her friends can do to convince her that she will recover. She seems resigned to the fact that Señor Muñoz will triumph after all."

"Killing someone does not make a man triumph over anything," the Fox stated unequivocally.

Francisco de las Fuentes was silent for a long moment. He understood the double implication of the man’s words. "I cannot allow that man to live after murdering one of the most innocent and sweetest women in the world," he said with some heat. "He is a useless wastrel." He paused. "I pity his father and mother, for they are not bad people."

El Zorro walked towards the officer just a few steps. "Comandante, I must insist that you not do such a thing. Did you not say, at the hearing of Joaquín Enríquez, ‘Death is the ultimate injustice and to commit it is a crime’?"

"You have a remarkable source of information, Señor," the officer replied, "but I request that you do not threaten me. I have much experience with the blade and I would regret it if we should come to blows over this case."

"I would regret this, too, Comandante," responded El Zorro. "I, too, have a reputation with the blade and I would not wish to use it against a man like you. However, if I must, I will."

Francisco de las Fuentes smiled slightly at the challenge. "I respect your courage, Señor Zorro. However, there is something that I need to tell you. When the current king of Spain was heir to the throne, he was counseled that he needed instruction in the use of the blade as befitted a future monarch. The man chosen as his teacher was none other than myself."

"I am impressed, Capitán," the man in black smiled in return. "However, I understand that his current Majesty neither fences nor engages in any martial skills. How do you explain that?"

"Ah," the officer reflected. "When His Majesty learned that I was to be his instructor, he opted not to be trained. It seems that he took offense at my insistence on excellence, discipline, and obedience. He has no capacity for any of these qualities. I, on the other hand, do. As a gentleman, I think it only fair that I warn you that you will face a formidable opponent - _if_ you seek to challenge me or my authority." He slightly pulled his saber out of the scabbard, just an inch or two, then, slapped it back into place to emphasize his meaning.

El Zorro continued to smile. "Capitán de las Fuentes," he explained. "I do not doubt your ability with the blade or your honor. I am not here to challenge your authority. I am here for two reasons. The first is to remind you that justice is never served by killing someone. The second reason, I am here, however, is personal. Having heard of the Señorita Perez’s distress, I believe that I might have an answer that would help solve the problem of why she feels that she is going to die."

This unexpected statement caused Francisco de las Fuentes to pause a long moment. He stared at the young man almost in surprise. He was expecting a sword fight after the Fox gave his opinion about the trial of Salvador Muñoz. Even if there were a good twenty years or more in their age difference, he was sure he would triumph. But what would such a triumph mean? He knew he would neither kill nor seriously harm the man in black if they came to blows. This second issue was surely a diplomatic means to defuse the first disagreement. "What do you propose in the case of Señorita Margarita?" he asked cautiously.

El Zorro watched the small man approach him and knew that the officer had deliberately moved out of fighting range towards one of disengagement. "Capitán, as I understand it, the young lady feels that she is going to die. She feels that Salvador Muñoz will succeed in killing her before she has the chance to marry you."

"That is essentially correct," Francisco affirmed.

"Comandante, why don’t you just marry her?" the man in black smiled. "Just marry her, now, right away. That way, she will know that Salvador has lost; that way she will get better."  


Francisco de las Fuentes seemed stunned a moment. "Marry her **_now_**?" he exclaimed. "In a hovel? Without my family knowing? Our engagement is barely two weeks old. There is no time to plan for this – who would I invite in this wilderness to attend such an affair – wild boar, coyotes, grizzly bears? Why, Margarita has not had the time to choose a proper wedding dress! I could not possibly attend a wedding dressed like this!" The prince brushed a hand over his own uniform with disdain. "How could I possibly honor her in such a way?"

El Zorro nodded knowingly before replying. "Your Excellency," he asked to the point, "What is most important, all this pomp and circumstance, or saving Margarita’s life?"

The prince paused a long time and considered the words of El Zorro. They were honest and direct, something he respected. He studied the young man opposite him and thought about how pride went before a fall and how he was determined not to lose Margarita, yes, even if it meant no cathedral, no bishop or cardinal presiding, not even a grand procession. Would his vanity cause her death if he did not act? Or was this God’s ultimate test? he wondered. "I will marry her, El Zorro, because if I were to lose her, I would not only have squandered my own happiness and her future, I would lose my soul. I truly deem our love over all these other things."

The knight in black gave a big smile as he stepped back towards the comandante’s quarters. "Padre Felipe, who is a man of high moral quality and courage, could not be a better officiator at such an event, Comandante. You will find that your friends in the pueblo could not be more honored than to attend your wedding, a memory that they will treasure for the rest of their lives." With these words, the Fox disappeared into the darkness behind him.

Francisco de las Fuentes smiled slightly as he slowly followed in the Fox’s wake. He did not walk slowly because of his leg any longer; he walked slowly so that the man in black would depart as silently as he had appeared at the cuartel. Belatedly he uttered the words, "I would wish you there, too, my friend." The comandante sat down on his bed and thought how El Zorro had helped him ever since his arrival to the pueblo. And now, in his most despairing moments, this strange outlaw had given him the hand of friendship plus the answer to the most troubling moments of his life in Los Angeles. Somehow, he would need to repay the masked man, but how?

****************

It was early the next morning when Don Alejandro de la Vega looked up from his cup of coffee and noticed his son nodding off at the breakfast table. This was most unusual, he thought. "Diego," he began. There was no response. He raised his voice a little and reached out a hand to touch his son’s shoulder. "Diego," he repeated.

The young man in a brown ranchero’s outfit opened his eyes at once, looking slightly startled. He saw his father smiling slightly at him. "Father?" he asked and looked around.

"My son, I have never seen you in such a state. Were you out all night in the pueblo?"

Diego straightened up in his chair and managed to look embarrassed. He shook his head. "Not at all, Father. I just could not sleep. I tossed and turned the entire night, trying to think of an answer for the situation with Margarita and Capitán de las Fuentes." He sighed. "I’m afraid that I could come up with no answer."

Alejandro nodded. "I know what you are saying. I myself have given this much thought. The only solution I can arrive at is to propose to the comandante that he do the unthinkable – and that is, to just marry her. I am sure that, despite the fact he is an enlightened man, he is much too traditional for that kind of action. But it is exactly what he needs to do."

"Why, Father," Diego looked surprised. "I can hardly believe that you would make such a suggestion. Capitán de las Fuentes is so old-fashioned that most people think of him as the ‘old Comandante’."

The older man chuckled at that. "Don’t tell me that you are shocked by my proposal, Diego. After all, it is a practical approach. He could always have a second, grander wedding in Spain. Besides, her life is at stake."

His son seemed to ponder those words. "If that is true, then we need to get to the pueblo right away and suggest this course of action to Don Francisco. Every moment we wait could be fatal."

Alejandro rose from his chair. "Let both of us depart, then, but only after you drink some coffee, my son. The least you can do is look awake when we meet with His Excellency. I am going to have to find a way to be as diplomatic with Don Francisco as I can. I hope that my proposal will not offend him."

Diego reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He grimaced slightly at its taste. "Barely warm," he remarked, but drank the entire contents. He headed toward the stairs. "I will return within fifteen minutes."

Alejandro turned toward a servant and asked that two mounts be prepared. It would take that long to prepare the horses and then they would be off to the pueblo.

When Diego reached his room, he saw Bernardo within, making the bed. The mozo in brown had put the unused bedclothes away. He turned as Diego closed the door. Diego gave a sigh of weariness and the servant smiled in understanding. He placed both of his hands together, tucked them under his left cheek, and closed his eyes.

Diego could not help but laugh a little at that. "Yes, Bernardo, I would like to sleep, but the night was well-spent. After visiting Capitán de las Fuentes and convincing him to get married right away, I then paid a call on Padre Felipe. Never have I had to call upon all my resources to argue with him the merit of abandoning tradition for the sake of the practical. To his great credit, he finally agreed that this was the only course. He said he would never agree with those who would argue that Margarita was fated to die. He has known Margarita for too many years to want such an ending to her life. His only reservation was that His Excellency might be too mired in the past to consider such a thing. I asked him if a man of such insight and desire to do justice for others would not, in turn, do justice to himself, even though it violated his desires to give Margarita the wedding he believes she deserves."

Bernardo raised his eyebrows and hands as if to ask, "Well?"

Diego took the hat the mozo offered him and smiled as he opened the door. "You know, I think that Padre Felipe and the Comandante will surprise each other this morning when both of them find they have come to the same conclusion as my father!"

*****************

María Pérez and the gypsy, Pilar Montoya, sat down next to Margarita’s bed. Both of them wore smiles on their faces.

María took one of her daughter’s hands in hers. She watched the young woman open her eyes. "Wake up, Margarita," she said in a teasing tone.

"Good afternoon, Señorita Margarita," crooned Pilar.

"Good afternoon," Margarita replied in a solemn voice. "I feel the same today as yesterday."

"We are going to change all that, Margarita," her mother told her. "Señora Montoya examined your wound this morning and said you can even start walking. We will help you walk."

"What is the point, Mother? I am sick. I am going to die anyway," Margarita said in a forlorn voice. "I just want Francisco to be here with me when I die."

"Stop talking about dying," María admonished her. "You are going to have a visitor any moment and we want to get you ready."

"Who is the visitor?" her daughter asked, "and how can I get ready?"

"This is a surprise," Pilar answered.

A moment later there was a knock at the front door. María heard the servant answer the door and she got up herself to go to the door. There, she greeted an older woman who carried a bulky package. Both women came toward the bed. Margarita was surprised when she saw who it was.

"Good day, Señora Portolá," she greeted the woman. The last time Margarita saw this woman was when she frowned at her in church after she had poked the comandante and it had made such a commotion. Margarita always remembered the woman’s look with embarrassment. But today, Señora Portolá had only smiles for the Pérez girl.

"Oh, Margarita, I am so happy to hear the news. And how fortunate you are," she said turning to María, "for such a son-in-law as the Capitán." She lowered her voice confidentially. "Some say that he is a prince, you know."

"He’s a musician, just like me," Margarita corrected her, "and a very fine one. You wouldn’t believe how he plays music. He is a scholar and very wise. In all these ways he is a prince to me."

All three of the women looked at each other and smiled. "Now we must get you ready for this prince," her mother said.

Señora Portolá unwrapped her package at the end of the bed and folded out the contents. Margarita looked in amazement at a beautiful white dress, the finest she had ever seen. It was a little old and very formal. While she examined it, Señora Portolá handed another object to María. The woman took it and spread out a long white veil.

Margarita looked surprised. "It’s a wedding dress," she exclaimed. She touched the material with outstretched fingers.

"It is now your wedding dress," María told her. "And we are here to help you try it on for size."

"I can’t try it on, Mother. I am wounded and ill. How can I even stand up? By the time Francisco is ready to leave for Spain, I will be in the grave."

The three women approached the young woman in the bed. Pilar pulled the blanket back. "It is now time to get up," she said. So saying, she reached her arm behind the back of the young lady and gently moved her to the side of the bed. Soon Margarita’s feet touched slippers and more arms helped her stand.

It was only a half an hour later that a young woman stood in front of a long mirror and eyed herself in a long white dress with a white veil and long train while her mother and two friends fussed over the fitting and how she looked. The mother knelt down to take the measurements and announced the dress almost a perfect fit. The other details would be worked out the rest of the afternoon. Señora Portolá was ready to work all afternoon and night for any alternations. After barging her way past Sebastian under many false pretenses in order to get the dress and other items belonging to María, sewing would be a small thing to contend with. Pilar Montoya left to attend to the other details.

After the other two women left with the dress, Margarita sat back on the pillows. She watched her mother go through a box of jewelry.

"I know you are trying to make me feel better, Mother," she told María. "But by the time our wedding would be scheduled for next year…oh this is so ridiculous."

"Margarita, there is something that you have to know, right now," her mother told her. "This morning, Padre Felipe and Don Francisco visited me. We had a long talk. It was decided that tomorrow, Sunday, you are going to be married here in the church in Los Angeles to Don Francisco. Padre Felipe is chosen to bless your union. He will be by later this afternoon to speak to you himself."

"Married? Me? Tomorrow?" Margarita responded in astonishment. She was so surprised that she was at a loss for words.

María took advantage of that by slipping out to attend to other chores. She didn’t want to hear any more arguments about dying.

Margarita Pérez sat propped up against the pillows. The house was quiet now except for muffled voices from the kitchen and she was all alone in the sala. Her thoughts flowed like a river. She told herself that she was dying; that she would not live long enough to be married to Francisco; that all her dreams for marrying him were just that – dreams. But, then she started to think about how she looked in the mirror dressed in the wedding dress that had once been her mothers and in her own golden jewelry. Pilar had placed the veil over her head after the train had been tried out. She began to imagine herself holding flowers and she started to smile a little. She looked down at the engagement ring on her finger, a most exquisite ring with a jeweled musical note. Perhaps she could imagine herself walking down the isle and Francisco at her side as they recited their life pledges to each other. Perhaps if she imagined hard enough, it might just come true.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 36](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante36.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	36. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-six**

It was early afternoon and the plaza in front of the church was packed with the inhabitants of the pueblo of Los Angeles. It had not taken very long for the word to spread about the wedding and it seemed that almost everyone wanted to attend. Don Juan Villa and his family, the Torres, the Santos, and others drove up in their carriages. Men who had been at the hearings, such as Gonzalez, the blacksmith, and his son, Pepe, appeared in their Sunday best. They were joined by Roberto Cárdenas the storekeeper with his wife and son, the carpenter and his assistants, the district vaqueros, and the flower vendor. The vaqueros, the barmaids, the elderly, the young, the midwives, the doctor, and the pueblo’s two lawyers could be seen milling about. Even Don Felix Muñoz and his wife, Ines, came, although they stayed on the periphery of the crowd.

The church was filled with the fragrance of every flower that could be found in the pueblo and even outside of it. Flowers of all colors were everywhere. Candles had been lit and the aroma of incense lingered about the altar.

At the cuartel, Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes fastened the last of his medals and decorations on his army jacket, brushed his hair for the third time, and watched in the mirror at the dresser as Corporal Reyes whisked his uniform off for the final time. He thanked the corporal for his services and headed out into the office.

There was a knock on the door of the Oficina del Comandante and Sergeant García entered. "There is a man requesting to see you, Comandante," the soldier told the officer. "He says it is urgent."

De las Fuentes sighed. There was always something that demanded his attention, even on his wedding day, he thought. Nevertheless, it was one last duty he would perform before departing for the church. "Let him enter," he replied.

García watched as a man of medium height with a brown pony tail stepped into the office. The man was wearing long trousers, a black frock coat and a high top hat which he removed upon entering the room.

Francisco de las Fuentes glanced up at the man, then stared hard at him a long moment. There was a look of genuine amazement on his face. "Muñoz!" he exclaimed and took an immediate step toward the man in greeting.

Juan Muñoz sank to one knee bowing before the officer. "My Prince," he said solemnly yet there was a smile on his face. He tried to take the officer’s hand to kiss.

"Muñoz, how, what are you doing here in Los Angeles?" Francisco asked, putting both hands on the man’s shoulders, then grasping his arms as if to raise him up "I hardly recognized you in such, ah, - modern attire." There was a twinkle in his eyes.

Juan Muñoz rose. "It would seem that I must bow to the trends that I find myself surrounded by." He chuckled a little. "But I am here because his Excellency, your father, sent me and there is news of great change in Spain."

"What is Father’s message?" inquired the captain. "I know he was much displeased with me when I departed Spain."

"No longer, Your Excellency. First is his message that he and his wife, your mother, send you much love. The second is that he wishes you to come home."

"That may still be somewhat difficult," Francisco responded dryly. "The politics still remain and that is what keeps me away. Besides, my own life has changed considerably."

"So I hear," Juan replied. "Is it true, Your Excellency, that you are about to be married - on this very day?" He looked concerned. "I beg your forgiveness upon asking this, but is not this lady a Creole, instead of being Spanish born? And she is not noble?"

"Yes, it is true. She is Creole, not born in Spain, but what does it matter, Muñoz? I have found my better half in a world away…and I am content." He smiled at the man. "And if I am at peace, what is there to forgive?"

"Not I, my Prince. I am only thinking of your family. It is rumored that the Lady Isabel’s husband is dying and that she may seek your forgiveness."

There was a silence in the room for a long moment and Juan became aware of the noise of the soldiers in the cuartel. He looked at the comandante in anticipation of his answer.

Francisco shook his head slowly. "It is too late for all that, my friend. Her ladyship is a part of another world that is, for me, long past, and one that has changed. But, dear friend, I am going to be late if I do not leave at once. True, my fiancée, Margarita, is not noble by blood, but she is, in all things, noble to me. I wish you to meet her and see for yourself. Get to know her as I have. Will you not be a part of my happiness, Muñoz? I wish you to come along to the church and to join me at the altar."

"If Your Excellency wishes it, then it is my pleasure," Juan replied. He looked at the hat that De las Fuentes placed on his head. "Is this a new fashion that the military has adopted, Excellency?"

De las Fuentes smiled as the man opened the door for him and he stepped out onto the porch outside of the Oficina del Comandante. "No, not officially. One of my fiancée’s friends mentioned that she hoped to see me in ‘knightly plumes’ at our wedding. As she and her family have been unstinting in their service to me and to my intended, I found it a request I could not refuse."

*******************

Joaquín Enríquez was attending to his own ceremony in the church graveyard on this sunny afternoon. He began spreading out the objects of his collection around the grave of Juan Enríquez. Once in a while, he stopped to listen to the sounds of the ceremony going on inside the church. He heard the first psalm sung during the beginning of the Nuptial Mass for what he knew was the comandante’s wedding to Señorita Pérez. He paused and remembered back in time to his uncle, the friar Adrian, who had performed such weddings when he was a boy. Enríquez smiled, remembering those idealic years before the return of his father. He reminded himself what he was there for and continued to place pewter, copper, silver and gold objects on the grave. When he finished, he stood up. He closed his eyes. From the church he also heard the Gloria sung and the thunder of voices reciting ‘Our Father’ during the Eucharist. He imagined that these voices accompanied his own ceremony over the graves of the dead and he mouthed the words.

At a discreet distance, a pair of brown eyes watched him from behind a tree and a gray-haired woman in colorful skirts, necklaces and earrings pulled a dark shawl around her and quietly approached the standing man who seemed quite lost in thought.

Pilar Montoya first knelt before the grave of María Enríquez and laid a white rose on it. She rose quietly and then joined the man at his side. She said nothing and it seemed that the breeze that whipped through the gate and into the graveyard whispered all the words that needed to be uttered. The birds chirped from the trees and bushes around them and the filtered sun beams shone down through the high branches of the great oak that grew near the garden path.

At last Enríquez spoke. He turned to her just slightly. "This is all of them. Everything I created from when I first began to when I finished the gold snuff box."

Pilar but her arm through his. "You became the craftsman he wanted you to be."

He looked at the grass covered ground. "But not through a love of it. I hated him, pitied him. He thought me worthless. I ran away and created these. By the time I returned to show him, it was too late. He was dead. All my labors seemed to have no meaning. Yet, his memory has haunted me all these years."

"And your mother?"

Joaquín sighed. "I only remember her goodness and helplessness."

"When you returned," asked Pilar, "what became of these items you brought to show your father?"

"I left them in the care of a man here in Los Angeles who professed to be my friend while I attempted to find my mother who, I learned, had departed for San Diego. I was unable to find her, or she me. I later learned she had returned here and died."

Pilar was silent a while. Then she nodded towards the grave. "Wherever he is now, he knows you are the son he wanted you to be." She stood with him a long while as the memories flooded over him.

It was mid-afternoon before Enríquez finally knelt and began to gather the items back into a hemp bag. Some of them he wrapped in soft cloth.

"What are you going to do now?" Pilar asked, gesturing to the bag. "You could sell them elsewhere. Many would wish to buy such workmanship and at a fine price."

Enríquez shook his head. "The people who bought them did so on good faith. They could not know that these were stolen from me. Besides, I would be doing the comandante a disfavor if I were ever to reveal the source of these stolen goods."

"The comandante?" asked Pilar in surprise. "Do you mean Capitán de las Fuentes? What could he have to do with this?"

"Nothing," Enríquez declared. "But the thief who stole my creations and made the money to set himself up in a successful business was none other than Sebastian Pérez."

*****************

She had been brought to the church in a carriage with her friends, Ismaida and Juanita. She was dressed in white, with a veil and train that the two girls carried up off the ground. Her mother accompanied her. In the carriage was Don César and his wife, Ramona. The conversation was animated and full of good cheer in the short jaunt to the entrance of the church.

Margarita Pérez was helped down from the carriage and she saw an enormous number of people milling about outside the church. She smiled and carefully entered the doors on the arm of her mother. Just inside she saw a man in a dark blue military coat trimmed with red. On his head was a hat with a large white plume that wrapped half-way around it. His expression under the up-turned moustaches was that of expectation and satisfaction when he saw her. He took her hand delicately in his and kissed it. He then asked her if she felt strong enough to stand a while to greet their guests. She nodded silently, feeling as if this were a dream and she was watching it happen to someone else, not to her.

It seemed as if almost everyone in town had come and their smiles were so encouraging that she felt energized. Only after most of them had passed into the church did she sit down a short while. Then it was time for the ceremony. Francisco introduced her to a quaint-looking man in a ponytail and she noticed the man’s inquisitive eyes appraising her as Don César walked up and smiled down at her.

Padre Felipe approached the couple and greeted them and their guests. Not only did the guests include the stranger, a Señor Muñoz, but her good friend, Diego de la Vega, and his father, Alejandro. There were the Villas and the Rodríguez, and, of course, her mother. Dr. Aguilera, who had brought her into the world, was the last member of the special circle that would join them.

Don César took great pleasure in walking the bride down the isle. He nodded to several acquaintances as they walked slowly but surely past every pew. Margarita saw the many smiles as she passed and looked down momentarily, at the flowers in her arms. When she looked up again, she saw Francisco standing by the altar with the stars shining in his eyes. She saw the stained glass windows high above and the statute of the Virgin Mary where she paused to place the roses before finally joining him.

She had been to all the weddings of her sisters and knew every moment, every hymn, and every phrase: the opening prayer, the Liturgy of the Word, the reading of the psalms, the singing of the Alleluia and the Gospel readings.

Francisco was especially pleased with the old-fashioned wedding dress that fit her so perfectly. He saw her light-brown hair peeking out beneath the veil when she bowed her head, and her shy smile. When Padre Felipe spoke of the love of music which united the couple and how early artists of the church had always depicted the angels playing musical instruments, the comandante remembered El Zorro’s assertion that the priest would have no match when it came to the ceremony. God’s love, Felipe explained, showed itself particularly through music. He spoke of the spiritualism and holiness of marriage. Then, the special moment came for the vows.

Francisco de las Fuentes turned to Margarita and saw that her eyes were shining, her pink lips in a wide smile. He spoke the words softly in his deep baritone, but with great passion and feeling: "I, Francisco, take you, Margarita., to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

She signed deeply in contentment, savoring the words as he spoke them. It wasn’t until he raised his eyebrows in expectation that she realized how long she had taken to respond. She smiled and intoned "And I, Margarita, take you, Francisco, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. "

Don Alejandro then gave the bride’s ring to Padre Felipe who blessed it and gave it to the Capitán. Francisco raised the ring to his lips, kissed it, and then slipped it onto Margarita’s finger. "Margarita., take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Her ring to him was likewise blessed and she slipped it onto his, saying, "Francisco, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Both then stepped towards each other and exchanged a loving kiss on the lips before separating again to hear the Prayer of the Faithful. The Liturgy of the Eucharist followed and the honored guests, in this instance Diego de la Vega, Ismaida Rodríguez and Juanita Villa, brought up the wine and bread to the altar. The Nuptial Blessing was made and then Padre Felipe asked everyone in the congregation "Let us give each other a sign of peace." Friends and neighbors, acquaintances and strangers turned to each other and intoned "Peace be with you." Others, especially María and Ramona, Ismaida and Juanita and Josefina, embraced and kissed each other. César, Alejandro, Diego and others, with wide smiles, embraced and shook each others’ hands. Holy Communion followed.

At last the couple stood and turned once again to face the congregation. Padre Felipe wore his most heartfelt smile as he introduced the newly married couple. "I give you, Don Francisco and Doña Margarita de las Fuentes."

There were cries of "Viva!" and applause that began like a wave at the front pew with Don César and rolled toward the back, crested, resounding throughout the church. It followed them as they made their way toward the entrance and the plaza beyond.

As they reached the open doors of the church, Francisco noticed that her steps began to falter. He looked at her in alarm. "Margarita, are you unwell?" he asked.

"I feel a little faint," she said in a soft voice and forced herself to take the last steps through the doors. Then she began to crumple.

Francisco de las Fuentes caught her and swooped her up in his arms. He was immediately surrounded by men and women offering their services.

"It is nothing," he assured them. "Her happiness has overwhelmed her." He continued to hear the congratulations of those surrounding him even as he made his way to the carriage.

Diego de la Vega was at his side in an instant. "Is she all right?" he asked in a concerned tone.

"I believe so," the comandante responded, "but she must be exhausted from the long ceremony."

"May I help you get her into the carriage?" Diego offered. The two men eased the young woman up into the carriage and the officer joined her, cradling the young woman in his arms.

Don César hurried out, followed by María. "What happened? Did she faint?"

"Margarita will be fine," Diego told him. "The comandante thinks she is exhausted."

"My poor darling," María exclaimed. "Perhaps she should go back home."

Francisco nodded. "I concur." He turned to the maestro. "May I take Margarita into your home again, Don César."

"Our home is yours, Your Excellency," the musician responded. "Only, you will have a harder journey to make when you get there."

The captain raised his eyebrows. "A harder journey?"

"I hope I was not premature, Capitán," César told him, "in light of all the good news and events, I had Margarita’s bed moved back up to her old room upstairs and, with it, her belongings. I fear you have a double flight of stairs to climb with your bride."

The officer nodded and the driver turned the horses in the opposite direction, down the dirt road toward the home of the Rodríguez.

Alejandro joined his son as they watched the carriage with two white horses depart. "I heard Margarita fainted," he said. "She began to look pale as they left the church."

Diego tried not to show his concern as the coach rounded a corner and disappeared. "Don César told His Excellency that he would have to carry Margarita upstairs upon arrival," he said lightheartedly.

Alejandro looked thoughtful. "I hope a flight of stairs is the most serious thing Don Francisco has to be concerned about."

*************

A man stood just outside the cuartel and argued with the Sergeant, fruitlessly it seemed.

"I am sorry, Señor Pérez," the rotund man told him, "but you will have to get the permission of the comandante before you are allowed to see Salvador Muñoz."

"But the comandante is not here," Sebastian insisted, "and is not likely to be back soon."

"That is true," García mused. "He is at church marrying Señorita….your daughter."

"I know that," the man said in a very displeased tone of voice. "And an action she may soon live to regret."

The big sergeant did not like what he heard and tensed. "You should be at the church, too, at the wedding of your daughter," he declared. "It is only right."

"I stayed just long enough," Sebastian responded defensively. "I have no daughter any longer and I certainly don’t approve of her actions or those of the comandante. She will end up living in this dirty cuartel among a bunch of misfits and an eccentric buffoon…" he stopped himself from going any further. "I insist on seeing Salvador Muñoz."

"You cannot see the prisoner. You are not even related to the prisoner. You do not have permission to the see the prisoner," García repeated. "And if you continue to say bad things about the soldiers of the king, I will have to arrest you."

"You can’t arrest me for giving an accurate assessment of the garrison," Pérez responded arrogantly.

"That is true," García smiled. "But I am now in charge until the return of the comandante. I can arrest you for insulting an officer of the Crown. Who were you talking about when you said the words ‘eccentric buffoon’?"

"Oh, forget it," growled Pérez "This is just absurd and ridiculous." He departed in a huff.

García watched him walk away. Then he noticed someone had walked up next to him. It was Corporal Reyes.

"Isn’t that Señor Pérez, the father of Señorita Margarita?" asked the soldier.

"Yes, it is," the big man answered.

"What did he want, Sergeant?"

"He insisted on seeing Salvador Muñoz, but I told him that he had to have the permission of the comandante."

"Oh," responded Reyes. "What did he say?"

"Would you believe that he then insulted the soldiers of the cuartel. He even insulted you!"

"Me?" Reyes looked surprised. "Why would he want to insult me, Sergeant? What did he say?"

"First of all, he called the cuartel dirty. Then he called the soldiers ‘misfits’; by then he was moving up the chain of command and after the words ‘misfits’ he said ‘an eccentric buffoon.’ I had to stop him before he began to insult me or the comandante!"

Reyes frowned. "You know, Sergeant, I don’t think I like Señor Pérez very much."

García nodded. "You know something, Corporal, I don’t think I like him very much either."

*******************

It was later that evening when Don Alejandro returned to the hacienda with his son, Diego. They spent a long time in the sala discussing the wedding and how fine and grand it was.

"Almost everyone in the pueblo was at Church," Alejandro enthused, "including all the people who received justice from the comandante and their families. Most of the vaqueros showed up and so did all those who helped Señorita Pérez." He paused. "A pity more people did not know of it. I am sure that Chief Grey Feather would have been honored just to have been invited."

"His Excellency is not the only one who had to break tradition, Father," Diego mused. "We will have to as well. I have known Margarita for so long as ‘Señorita Pérez,’ I will have to be sure not to slip. At this point the safest form of address will appear to be "Señora Comandante." I bet she’ll like that."

Alejandro chucked. "Wait until she finds out what her title will be when she returns to Spain with him."

Diego was pensive a moment. "I am still concerned about her condition. She looked so pale in Church today before she fainted."

Alejandro looked thoughtful, then he smiled. "You know, my son, I think she was just overwhelmed by finally having her dreams come true. We should not be surprised by this. It is not unknown for women like her to faint, and the more romantic they seem to be inclined, the more likely it is to happen. No, I would not be over-concerned about Margarita. For some women, it is almost a custom."

When his son looked skeptical, he added, "Believe me, in my many years, I have seen this happen."

"Mother didn’t faint, did she, Father?" Diego asked mischievously.

"Your mother was a practical and level-headed woman," Alejandro said resolutely. "It was just one of the many reasons I married her."

"I see," Diego smiled. "But, did she ever faint?"

Alejandro smiled ruefully. "She did," he admitted, "But, only once."

"And when was that, Father?" Diego grinned.

"It was such a foolish thing. I proposed to her and presented her with a ring. After I slipped it on her finger, she examined it, looked up at me, gasped, and fell into a swoon in my arms. I did not know what to do!"

"What did you do?"

Alejandro smiled. "I helped her back onto the love seat and began to call her name. That did not seem to have any effect. I even shook her gently. Finally, I decided that there was only one course to take."

"You ran for the smelling salts," Diego chuckled.

Alejandro shook his head. "There were no smelling salts, my son. I decided that, like the prince in the fairy tale, I would kiss her on the lips to awaken her."

"Did that work?"

"Indeed it did, my son. So, the moral of the story is, when women faint in a romantic situation, do not be too concerned."

"I hope you are right, Father," Diego rejoined. "But now that all the excitement and pleasantness is over, there is still a serious matter at hand – and that is the trial of Salvador Muñoz."

It was Alejandro’s turn to become pensive. "Attempted murder is a very serious charge and the fact that it was the comandante’s fiancée makes it more than just an ordinary attack." He leaned forward in his chair toward his son. "I cannot understand why he would do such a thing. It was obvious to everyone that Margarita disliked him and would not consent to marry him, yet he insisted that he would marry her. What was his motivation? Why would he want to marry a young woman who rejected him?"

"I don’t know either," the young man replied, "but I once asked myself,’ are there questions that we are not yet asking ourselves.’ Why would her father, for example, insist that she marry a man she did not love? Why would he take such matters to extreme by selling her piano to punish her and even beat his own wife when matters did not go the way he wished? That is extreme."

"I agree," the don remarked, "but it is a subject I would like to postpone discussing until tomorrow. It is getting quite late and the both of us need to turn in, especially you. You told me you have not been sleeping well recently." Alejandro and his son rose and bid each other a good night.

It was less than five minutes after Don Alejandro closed his bedroom door, that Diego was startled by a pounding at his door.

"Diego, open the door," called his father.

Diego leaped off the bed and raced for the door. Outside stood his father in his dressing gown.

Diego was alarmed. "What is wrong, Father?" he asked with great concern. "What is going on?"

"Enríquez," Alejandro said. He held up an object in his hand. "My gold snuff box. I found it on the mantel. He must have returned it." He shook his head. "But why would he risk capture to return something he took so much trouble to steal?"  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 37](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante37.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	37. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-seven**

The day was overcast and chilly. Grey and white clouds intermingled and a breeze found its way through the gates of the cuartel, whipping its way around the pile of wood, the hanging laundry, and the iron grates of the jail.

Inside one of the cells, a young man sat with pout on his face and wrapped himself in the coarse blanket from the wooden platform he sat on. He had never been in a jail before and it was not a pleasant experience for him. Not a single one of the soldiers would take his coins when he requested that ‘decent food’ be brought him from the inn. Not one of them would respond to his request for another blanket even though he tossed some coins to them through the bars. One of the soldiers, a corporal, had stopped by the cell, leaned over, picked up the coins in the dirt and returned them to him.

"Here are your coins, Señor Muñoz," the soldier said, handing them back to the prisoner through the bars.

"They’re yours, soldier," Muñoz replied, standing by the bars. "Just let me send a message out to a friend of mine and you can keep them."

"That is not allowed," Corporal Reyes told him. "Keep your coins."

"I’ll double the amount, triple it!" Salvador insisted. "Look at all the coins you’ll have for wine at the tavern."

Reyes looked at the coins in the man’s hands. "No, thank you," he said. "I get all the wine I want at the inn for nothing."

"A message is nothing. I just need someone to talk to me!" Salvador insisted.

"You must ask the permission of the Comandante," Ryes explained.

"I’m not interested in talking with him," the young man said disdainfully.

"If you want anything, you must ask the Comandante," the corporal insisted. He suddenly straightened up and saluted someone outside of the prisoner’s view.

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes returned the corporal’s salute. "Is the prisoner making a request, Corporal Reyes?"

Reyes saw Muñoz shaking his head at him and holding up a hand, but he was an honest man. "Sí, mi Capitán," he replied. "Señor Muñoz offered me coins to send a message for him."

The officer rounded the corner of the jail and walked up to the bars of the cell where the prisoner stood. "Good morning, Señor Muñoz," he said politely. "All requests must be communicated to me. What kind of message would you like send and to whom would you like to send it?"

"Oh, never mind," Salvador responded. He turned back to the platform and sat down.

Francisco de las Fuentes remained at the cell door. He watched the young man with the pouting lips for a long moment. "I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to me, Señor Muñoz. It might go better for you if you do."

"How can it go better for me?" the young man asked angrily. "It’s your intention to hang me, isn’t it?"

"Your punishment will be determined by the degree to which you cooperate with the authorities as well as to what happens to the young woman you shot," De las Fuentes replied.

Salvador perked up a bit. "She’s not dead, is she?" he asked.

"Is that what you want?" Francisco asked. "Tell me this; if you were so eager to marry her, then why would you shoot her just because she refused you? There is no logic in your actions. Surely there are other young women to court in Los Angeles."

"You don’t understand anything," Muñoz replied. "I probably should have shot you instead. You ruined everything for me - and for her."

"How so?" Francisco inquired. "She had turned you down before we even became acquainted. Surely, you cannot win the hand of any señorita by killing her friends."

"All right, if you really want to know," Salvador said with some venom. "She would have eventually accepted my proposal if you had not interfered. It was for her own good and she is too blind and stupid to know it. She lives in a dream world and the only way to get her out of that world is by force. Force is the only thing that works with devious women like her. Don Sebastian told me himself that a good beating worked with his own wife. Margarita is no different. I would have given her a comfortable life and she could have kept the damned piano!"

There was a long period of silence as the officer contemplated the diatribe he had just heard. Finally, he spoke. "Señor Muñoz, how can you claim to want to marry a woman whom you call ‘devious’? Is not marriage based upon love and affection for someone, someone with whom you pledge to spend the rest of your life? For you to say that you would even beat a lady is to imply that something else, not love, is the compelling reason for your insistence on marrying a woman who does not love you. Why don’t you tell me the real reason you insisted on marrying Señorita Margarita?"

Salvador looked at the officer at the bars with narrowed eyes. He now became cautious, even worried that he had gone too far. But he would not let it show. "I have no intention of telling you anything," he said haughtily. "Maybe it would just be best if she died and that would end it all." When he saw the tightening features of the officer’s face and a frown form, he smirked. Remembering what his lawyer told him, he added, "Was it not you, Capitán, who said the death penalty is a crime?"

Francisco controlled his anger and replied calmly. "Yes, I said that, Señor, and under those circumstances it was true. But there is something that you should know. True, I believe that the law should be applied to all commoners equally. As a matter of fact, I have spent much of my life upholding the law so that the subjects of the king receive justice. But, you, Señor Muñoz, have done something most unusual: you have crossed the barriers of class. When you kill, or attempt to kill, a member of the nobility, it is quite a different thing. The same kind of laws and justice do not apply. It is the tradition of our kingdom and it is something that I can not alter."

Salvador looked startled at this news. "What do you mean, ‘killing or attempting to kill a member of the nobility’?" he stammered. "Margarita is a commoner, like me."

"No longer, Señor Muñoz," Francisco told him. "Margarita is now my wife. We were married yesterday. If anything should happen to her, then the laws that apply to the killing of a member of the nobility will now apply to you." He paused a moment for the fact to sink in before he added, "I pray that in knowing this, you will be less eager to desire her death." He watched the color drain from Salvador’s pudgy features. "I am also here to inform you that your trial begins tomorrow morning." With these words the officer turned away and headed towards the gates of the cuartel.

*************************

Juan Muñoz heard the arrival of a visitor downstairs and decided to see who it was. If the visitor was the lawyer for his brother, Felix, he wanted to listen to what the man proposed for the defense of his client, Salvador.

He was about to enter the sala when all his instincts told him to listen first before entering. It was an old habit. He halted just outside the room where he heard a voice urging Felix to action.

"Take advantage of me, Felix," a man was saying persuasively. "You have been under a terrible strain – what with the situation with Salvador and your own health. All you have to do is to temporarily sign over to me the running of your business. Many of our clients are the same and our families have known each other a long time."

Juan frowned when he heard his brother’s reply.

"Perhaps that is a good idea, Sebastian," Felix responded. "It is true. I am worn out by all the worry and waiting for word when the trial is to begin."

Juan thought quickly to the night before. He had visited his master at the home of Don César Rodríguez and learned what had happened first hand from the prince. There was a great deal of sorrow in the demeanor of Francisco de las Fuentes y Alarcón, something Juan was not used to hearing, or seeing. He learned what had happened to Margarita Pérez at the hands of her father and Salvador and about the shooting. Juan was appalled by what he heard, feeling a great deal of sympathy for the young lady he had briefly met at Church. He earnestly hoped for her recovery, not only for her sake, but for the prince’s as well. Not only had the man in the captain’s uniform told him of how he had met her and discovered her qualities as a musician, he also learned how he had come to terms with the loss of the Lady Isabel and her deception, as he put it. Finally, the Comandante told his loyal servant of his suspicions regarding why Sebastian and Salvador seemed intent on making a match that would have clearly been a disaster. Juan thought about this intently as he listened to the voices in the sala and he felt alarmed by what he heard. Perhaps now would be a good time to put in an appearance. He rounded the doorframe and entered the sala, stopping and looking surprised. "Ah, Felix," he began, "I did not realize you had a guest." He looked at Pérez directly, then back to his brother. "Would you prefer me to leave?"

Sebastian looked up in alarm at the stranger who entered the room. He was clutching some documents in his hands.

Felix looked up as well and smiled in welcome. "No, Juan, do not leave." He looked at Pérez. "Sebastian, this is my brother, Juan. He is visiting us from Spain."

Sebastian rose politely. "I did not know Felix had a brother visiting," he commented.

"I must apologize for not telling you," Felix began. "He is here to…"

"I just arrived the other day to the pueblo," Juan interrupted, wishing to control the flow of the conversation. "I spent much of my time recovering from the very long journey and have not yet had the opportunity to move about the pueblo. I hope you will forgive me."

Sebastian nodded, then turned to Felix. "Perhaps we can discuss this matter further at my office this afternoon, Felix? The sooner we move on this, the better."

"Certainly," Felix said. "I’ll bring my lawyer and we can discuss it."

Sebastian frowned slightly. "My own lawyer has drawn up the papers and said all is in order. You know him, Felix."

"Very well," the graying merchant replied. "I will see you later today." He saw Sebastian to the door. A few minutes later he returned to the sala where Juan had remained standing.

"I could not help but overhear what Señor Pérez was proposing to you, Felix," the man with the brown ponytail asserted. "I am concerned that you will make a decision that is not in your best interests."

Felix looked troubled and put a hand up to his forehead, brushing it over one eye. He looked tired. "Sebastian has been a friend for many years," he explained. "Surely you do not suspect him of duplicity? This is something that is only temporary. Besides, I was going to tell Sebastian that you are in the service of His Excellency. Not even I knew who the comandante was until you told me. There is nothing to fear from Sebastian. If anything, he should be impressed with whom his daughter has just married!"

"No, Felix," Juan said. "I wish for you to keep this information our secret. It is one of the reasons I had to rudely interrupt you during the conversation with him. Dear Brother, sit here a while. There is something that I must tell you." He heard a quiet footstep outside the door and looked up.

Ines Muñoz entered the room with a smile. "I hope I’m not interrupting anything," she began. "Felix, you look exhausted. Would you two care for some coffee?"

Juan turned back to Felix. "As a matter of fact, I think both of you should hear this."

"Hear what?" the woman inquired. She then looked concerned. "About Salvador?" She sank into a chair next to her husband.

Juan looked at the woman who had become as tense as her husband. "We’ll have coffee later, Ines, thank you." He paused. "There is much I have contemplated since arriving here regarding the situation with your son. In addition, I learned some very interesting information from His Excellency last night."

"Not about the Señorita Margarita, I mean, His Excellency’s wife?" Felix began. "Is she getting better?"

"I’ve been praying for her," Ines spoke in earnest. "Poor little dear."

"No, Juan replied solemnly. "It is about Sebastian."

***********************

Don Diego de la Vega rode his palomino into the pueblo of Los Angeles. He wore a brown ranchero outfit, and, because the early morning was quite chilled, there was a brown cape over his shoulders. He dropped by the cuartel to inquire after the comandante, only to be told he had gone to the office of Maximillian Palacios, the Muñoz lawyer. Diego asked when the small man would return.

"He is also going to visit his wife, Doña Margarita," Sergeant García told the young man. "He is very concerned about her health." The big man paused. "Everyone is."

"I trust Doña Margarita is improving, now that she no longer has Salvador Muñoz or her father to fear," Diego replied. "I intend to visit her today as well. I hope to see her much improved."

"I am also worried a little about the comandante," García confided.

"Why is that, Sergeant?" Diego inquired. "Everything in the pueblo seems to be back in order again."

"Well, Don Diego, this morning I heard the comandante tell Salvador Muñoz that his trial is tomorrow morning. Señor Muñoz was very rude to the comandante. He thinks that he will not be hanged because the comandante said, at the trial of Señor Enríquez that, to kill someone is a crime."

"What did our comandante reply to that?" Diego asked.

"The Capitán was very courteous to the prisoner. He did not get angry, even though Salvador insulted the Señora Capitán. He explained to Salvador that there are different kinds of justices. One is for the ordinary people and another is for those who kill or try to kill members of the nobility. Now that the Señorita Pérez is married to him, she is a member of the nobility."

"I see," Diego mused. "This could be very serious. Perhaps Doña Margarita is not doing as well as everyone hoped." He became very concerned. "If you will excuse me, Sergeant, I think I should pay her a visit right away." He turned to leave.

"Oh, Don Diego," García smiled. "I have been practicing the operetta songs you taught me. I go out to the hills and sing. Sometimes, when I walk around the pueblo, I sing. I like these songs very much."

"Oh, fine, that’s good, Sergeant," the young man responded. He was very distracted by the news of the trial and what De las Fuentes had said. "Just keep on practicing."

"Sí, Don Diego," García grinned. He began to sing to himself as he watched the young man cross the plaza and head down the street towards the home of the musician, César Rodríguez.

***********************

Francisco de las Fuentes had stopped by the lawyer’s office to inform Señor Palacios that the trial would begin the next day. The lawyer should gather his witnesses and prepare to make his arguments, he explained. The comandante also spoke to the flower vendor, Señor Gil, to the blacksmith’s son, Pépe, and to the owner of the General Store, Roberto Cárdenas. All of these men had witnessed the shooting or its aftermath. He asked them to appear at the inn in the morning. Señor Pacheco had been advised to set aside the downstairs for the trial. There was too little room in the cuartel to hold such an event and the Alcalde’s office was as small as his own.

The flower vendor immediately told all his customers what was to transpire. He also talked to several men who participated in the posse to hunt down the fugitive and they, in turn, informed others. By the end of the afternoon, the pueblo was buzzing with talk of the impending trial of Salvador Muñoz. The courtroom, many said, would be packed.

***************

He opened the door to their room, and saw her sleeping. He stood a moment, contemplating her features, her long, loose, light brown hair that was so soft in his hands and on his face. She wore a pink gown and lay on her back. The blanket was pulled up under her arms. He walked softly to the bed and leaned over to kiss her on the lips, so very softly. He winked as she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She smiled in welcome and stretched a little.

"How are you feeling, darling?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. He smoothed the strands of hair away from her brow and caressed her cheek. He kissed her again.

"I just feel so tired, Francisco," she told him. "But when you are here, I feel so much better."

"I am here forever," he said and took one of her hands in his, then kissed it. "I have some pleasant news for you. You have a visitor downstairs."

"A visitor?" she asked. "Who?"

"Don Diego," he answered. "He is quite concerned after seeing your fainting spell yesterday. I assured him that you have recovered from this. Would you like to see him?"

She nodded. "Diego is a good friend. I’m glad you like him and his father."

"Señora Montoya is here as well. She is speaking with him about your convalescence."

"Pilar has me walk to the stairs everyday," Margarita explained. "She said I will be going down the stairs this afternoon and, perhaps, back up. She said that she would tell you that I am ready for all these things. She said I have not been doing enough to get well. She said she would tell you to give me some ‘orders.’"

He chuckled at that. "I have done so." Then he grew more serious. "Sweetheart, your wound is almost healed. Why are you still insisting that you are ill? Are you not happy now that we are married?"

Her eyes opened wide and she held up her arms to him. He put one arm behind her back and pulled her up from the pillows. He held her gently in his arms. She put her arms around his neck and cried softly into the high collar of his uniform jacket before answering.

"Oh, Francisco," she wept. "I am so happy now that we are married. I love you dearly. You are so good and kind to me. I never thought I could be so happy. But, it’s almost too good to be true."

"Too good to be true?" he asked.

"Yes," she sniffed. "In a way, my dreams coming true frighten me, too."

He thought a long moment before answering. "You know, Margarita, almost everyone gets married. For most, it is a dream come true because they have found their spiritual counterpart to share their hopes and dreams with. In our case, we are two musicians who have found a perfect harmony. Listen!" He paused so she could hear the birds singing outside her window. "Do you not hear them? They, too, have found the perfect harmony, and soon they will build their nest to share together. We are no different in this, Dearest. God has brought us together and who are we to oppose the will of God?"

"I feel so foolish," she admitted. "I promise to try very hard to make you proud of me."

He reached out a hand and pulled one of the pillows on top of the other before lowering her down again. "Besides, I have a very important project for you to work on while you are lying here." He tucked the blanket around her as he spoke.

"What project is that, Francisco?" she asked, now intrigued.

"I have many debts to repay to the good people of this pueblo – from the Rodríguez family to the De la Vegas; to all the men who joined the hunt to find me; to the Indians and the gypsy who saved my life and yours; and finally, to a most mysterious outlaw named ‘El Zorro.’" He squeezed her hands gently, then rose and headed for the door.

Margarita smiled at him from the pillows. "Oh, Francisco," she reprimanded him gently. "You know he’s not really an outlaw."

The officer turned and smiled in return as he opened the door. "Yes," he said softly. "I know."

*******************

Angel Ledesma was smiling hugely as he ordered a bottle of wine from the innkeeper, Señor Pacheco. "I am celebrating!" he said exuberantly raising a glass.

"What are you celebrating?" asked the innkeeper.

"I paid off the last of my debts to the comandante today," Angel smiled. "My wife was very pleased to learn that the comandante had reduced my fines because I had been beaten and whipped. She gave me a big kiss when she learned that Benito donated five pesos to help me pay my fine. She told me that Benito is a good man and that it is all right if I buy him some drinks to thank him."

"Congratulations, Angel," Señor Pacheco told him. "The best news is that your wife is so pleased now that you are out of debt."

"That’s not all," Angel confided. "You would not believe how happy she was when she learned that Tomás ran away. ‘Good riddance!’ she said. Then, she told me ‘I hope you have learned your lesson, not to let anyone like Tomás cheat you out of so much wine.’"

Señor Pacheco nodded. "It is most important that your wife is talking to you again. There is nothing like a happy wife." He looked up as the door to the tavern banged open. It was Sergeant García. _Speaking of debts_ , the innkeeper thought.

García sat down at the table. Pacheco approached him cautiously. "What can I do for you, Sergeant García?"

"Well, I was hoping that you might be able to advance me a little credit on a bottle of wine," the fat soldier began, holding up a finger.

"You are in debt to me for almost five pesos," Pacheco told him. "You never pay your bills unless I threaten to tell the comandante. I am just waiting for Capitán Monastario to return in order to complain. Capitán de las Fuentes has too many troubles now to be bothered by this sort of thing."

"Sí, I know," smiled García as the innkeeper rolled his eyes. "Say, what is Angel Ledesma doing there at the bar. I have never seen him so spirited, except for the night we arrested him for brawling with Señor Robello and Benito."

"Oh, that," the burly man in a white apron told him. "Angel is celebrating the fact that he just paid off all his debts to the comandante today."

García plucked at a moustache. "Oh, really?"

A moment later, Angel Ledesma found an arm around his shoulder. He turned and saw the big sergeant at his elbow with a huge smile on his face. "Ah, Señor Ledesma," soldier said with glee. "It looks like you are celebrating something."

Angel’s face lighted up like a candle. "I am celebrating, Sergeant," he said cheerfully. "At last I am debt free, so I celebrate the best way I know how."

"You know, Angel, you should never celebrate by yourself," García told him. "The more people who can share your happiness, the better, no?"

Angel smiled. "You are right, Sergeant. Here," he reached for a mug and poured some wine in, then handed it to the smiling soldier. "Let’s raise our mugs and give a toast to the man who made it possible."

García took a long drink from the mug. Ledesma cheerfully refilled it. García guided him over to an empty table. "Who is that?" he asked as he sat down. "Who made it possible?"

"Why, my old drinking friend, Tomás," explained Angel. "Now that he is not drinking my wine anymore, I have plenty to share."

********************

Diego de la Vega sat in a leather chair next to her bed and smiled. "And how are you doing today, Margarita?" he asked.

"Much better," she answered. "I think I have disappointed many people by my illness, and I need to get better sooner."

"You don’t disappoint us, Margarita," Diego told her. "But, we are worried that perhaps your melancholy from the shooting has remained with you for too long. Now that you are married to Capitán de las Fuentes, you have the life you have always wanted – free from all the anxieties you experienced at home."

She nodded. "I felt better just being with Don César and his family. I’m so happy Mother has been here with me. It’s really been the best for her, as well." Margarita looked down at her wedding bands and smiled. "Francisco is so wonderful, too. I can’t believe that I am more in love with him now than I was before I married him, but it’s true." She blushed at her own words.

Diego smiled. "I am so happy for you, too, Margarita. For years I hoped that you would find the right man. All of your friends did. We were all there at your wedding to see your happiness. We will remember forever the joy on your face when you were at the altar."

Margarita looked down at her hands and found her cheeks burning a little. "Thank you, Diego. I owe everyone a debt of gratitude. Francisco and I talked about this already. We are not sure what we can do."

Diego smiled. "I have a message for you, Margarita, about your debt. It’s from an unusual person."

"Who is that?" asked Margarita.

"Why, from El Zorro," Diego told her.

"From Señor Zorro?" Margarita almost squealed. "Oh, my!" Her eyes were now wide open. "What message did he give you? Was it really for me? How did it happen?"

"It was so strange," Diego told her. "Why, it was late last night. I had gone to sleep when I felt something tapping on my shoulder. It was a blade. When I opened my eyes to demand who could be waking me in the middle of the night, I saw that it was El Zorro!"

"What did he say?" she asked, completely intrigued. She sat up straight in bed.

"He said to me: ‘Diego de la Vega, I have a mission for you. Tomorrow you must visit Doña Margarita, the wife of the comandante. You must tell her that I am expecting her to repay her debt to me for helping to save the life of her husband, Capitán de las Fuentes.’"

Diego then changed his voice from one of command, to one of awe. "Believe me, Margarita, I was almost frightened out of my wits, but, after all, this was a message for you, not for me." He paused. "You know, I was so relieved not to be in trouble with El Zorro myself!"

"But how does he want me to repay the debt?" Margarita insisted, refocusing on the amazing fact. "What can I do?"

"Zorro told me to tell you that he expects you to get well. He expects you to do all the things necessary to take the side of your husband at church next Sunday, walking from this house to the plaza and back. Finally, he expects you to resume your piano playing and to succeed in music and in life far beyond the expectations of your friends and family." Diego paused. "This is what he told me that you must do."

Margarita sat thinking a moment. "It is true, Diego. When Francisco disappeared and everyone was looking for him, El Zorro came to this very house. He spoke with me and told me he would not rest until he found my beloved. He kept his promise. Francisco was returned to me, cured and happy. I am very grateful. If El Zorro requires this of me, then I will do my best to repay him for the life of Francisco." She looked up and saw Señora Montoya at the open door smiling in satisfaction at what she heard.

Diego visibly sighed in relief. "Thank you, Margarita. This makes me feel so much better. If El Zorro were to call on me again, I could tell him what you said. This way, I won’t be in trouble either."

"Oh, Diego," Margarita smiled, taking hold of one of his hands. "I would not want to get you in trouble with El Zorro just because of me. Rest assured I will do everything El Zorro asks."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 38](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante38.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	38. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-eight**

It was late afternoon and the sun shone intermittently between the large white, puffy clouds. The breeze was blowing in from the far eastern mountains and the evening promised to be a cool one. Already the market vendors were packing up their wares and preparing to head home.

Don Alejandro and his son, Diego, sat on the shaded patio of the inn near the street and sipped wine. On occasion, they looked up and watched the townspeople walk by or men on horseback canter through the plaza. On the table between them stood a half-consumed bottle of Madera and it followed a previous red.

"The seriousness of this trial can not be underestimated," Alejandro reiterated. "It is not merely a case of attempted murder; it now involves the question of honor, and in particular, a señorita’s honor. The trial will not go well for Salvador."

"The pueblo is shocked that Señor Pérez did not even react in indignation or anger at the attack on his daughter," Diego remarked. "Many regard this as inexplicable at best and downright callous at worst. Surely, disinheriting her does not absolve him from acting on her behalf as a parent."

"You know," Alejandro says, "in Spain and in all of her empire, it is a tradition that anyone who impinges on another person’s honor must face a reckoning. This often results in forfeiture of a life. How many countless duels or even assassinations have occurred over the issue of honor?"

"True," Diego replied. "But the Church, as well as the monarchy, has opposed dueling and, traditionally, it is the arena of the nobility. No nobleman will duel with a commoner. Usually, he has his servants beat the offender to show his contempt for him."

"Ah," his father pointed out, "you know that dueling has still not been eliminated. From what you told me, even the cadets fight it out over perceived insults, although they do so far from the eyes of the authorities."

"I am sure that many in this pueblo would like to step forward," Diego replied. "The entire pueblo is against Salvador because the target of his wrath was an innocent young lady who merely refused her father’s instructions to marry a man she disliked very much."

"Although this family affair is none of my business," the white-bearded don responded, "I, too, would be more than willing to step forward on behalf of Señorita Pérez." He eyed his son in a challenging sort of way.

"I, too, am moved by this sentiment," Diego nodded. "Yet, I have the feeling that Salvador should not be the only one on trial who endangered Margarita’s life"

Alejandro raised his eyebrows. "Whom do you mean?"

"Señor Pérez pushed the entire issue to an extreme which led to the unfortunate unfolding of events."

"I can’t say that I have ever cared for Sebastian Pérez," Alejandro commented. "I do my business with others. But you cannot try a man for attempting to force his daughter to marry a man she hates."

"So it would seem on the surface," Diego replies. "I probably would like to see him punished for his callous indifference to his daughter’s condition, but, as you point out, there are no laws against being a bad parent."

Alejandro looked thoughtful as he gazed past Diego’s shoulder as if seeing an apparition from the past. "That is an unfortunate lesson I learned many years ago, my son." He paused a moment. "You might have wondered why I have not pursued the case of Joaquín Enríquez any further."

Diego smiled slightly. "I heard that he was seen in town only yesterday."

"Not only was the snuff box returned to me, but Don Juan and Leon informed me this afternoon that the stolen items had been returned to their homes as well. I am not sure what this means. Perhaps there was some truth to what Enríquez said when he claimed he was only ‘borrowing’ them." Don Alejandro poured himself a last glass of wine and filled his son’s mug as well.

There was a long spell of silence before both men finished the wine, left a coin on the table, and rose to leave. As they stepped out into the street, Diego commented, "You know, Father, it seems that, lately, several people in the pueblo have purged the demons from their past, including Capitán de las Fuentes and Señorita Pérez. Perhaps Señor Enríquez is among them."

*************************

It was after dinner at the home of Felix and Ines Muñoz and the home was silent except for two hushed voices in the sala. Late that afternoon, the lawyer, Maximillian Palacios, had shown up at their door and been ushered inside. He went into great detail regarding the defense of Salvador and the problems of how popular hostility to the young man could greatly influence the outcome of the trial.

Juan Muñoz sat with his brother and sister-in-law and said nothing throughout the discussion. After the lawyer left, he went for a long walk and only returned in time for a late supper. Both Felix and Ines reviewed the issues over and over again.

Finally, Felix turned to Juan. It was obvious that he had much on his mind and he looked almost apologetic, glancing at his wife as if needing encouragement to broach the issue. "I hesitate to involve you in any manner that may be deemed inappropriate in this situation with Salvador," he began.

"What is on your mind?" the man with the ponytail inquired in a quiet manner. He was calm, almost serene.

Ines did not hesitate. "Juan, is there any way you could intervene with His Excellency to help Salvador?"

Felix looked hopeful. "Can you say anything that might influence him, something that would mean that his punishment would not be too, ah, harsh?" He paused and looked at his wife again. "I would not ask this of you, only it is our youngest son and we fear the worst for him. Perhaps….."

Juan looked sad a long moment. Then he spoke in a soft voice. "I have spent my entire life in His Excellency’s service, Felix. The House of De las Fuentes y Alarcón is noble and honorable. Prince Alfonso, rather Don Francisco, is an honest man, a just man, and I would serve no other. Our family is also an honorable one. I could not, and would not, use my relationship with His Excellency to influence the outcome of this trial." He turned to the tearful Ines and took one of her hands in his, patting it. "I am very sorry, Ines. I could not respect myself if I ever took such an action. Knowing His Excellency as I do, the prince would not respect anyone who sought to use such influence either. We know it would not be honorable."

Felix shook his head as if he had anticipated such an answer. "I, too, am very sorry for asking you, Juan, and I apologize. I hope you understand that it is only our deep despair that has brought us to make such an appeal."

"I understand," Juan replied. "I want you to know that His Excellency is troubled by this case as well. I do not tell you this to create any false hopes, only that he will try to find a solution, if he can, that will lead to the least harm. This does, however, involve his wife, and this fact may or may not influence his objectivity. I cannot say for certain what the outcome will be and I do not wish to speculate."

"But will His Excellency invoke the old laws concerning an attack upon the nobility?" Ines pressed him. "When Maximillian came by today, he indicated that Margarita is getting better."

Juan shook his head. "I don’t know. I really don’t know."

***********************

They kissed and lay in each other’s arms a long time in the large, four-posted bed with hanging green curtains. She laid her head on his chest and he caressed her hair. Finally, she spoke softly. "What is going to happen tomorrow at the trial, Francisco?"

"The unfolding of a tragedy in three acts," he replied. "First, Señor Palacios will attempt to defend the indefensible. After this, Señor Franco will shoot his arguments full of holes and present the case of the victim. He will summon many witnesses. Then, I will be called upon to render a verdict."

There was another long silence after he finished, then she spoke into his ear. "It’s a terrible responsibility to have, to pass judgment on other people. I don’t envy anyone having to do it. I don’t think I could bear the pressure. You are very brave, Francisco."

He smiled slightly in the dark. "It’s not about being brave, Sweetheart; it is something even more challenging: it is about being wise. It is not easy to be wise when the person you love is involved."

"I am glad, in a way, not to have to be there. I don’t think I could face Don Felix and Doña Ines, knowing that it must be the most terrible moments of their lives."

"I will not have you there, Margarita. It is what I spoke to Señor Franco about after he took your deposition this afternoon. He will represent your interests and understands that I will not have you subjected to public display over this."

"Isn’t there anything that I can do, Darling?" she requested. "I feel so useless staying away."

"You can do one thing," Francisco told her. "And it is only between you and me. It must remain our secret."

"What is that?" She was intrigued.

His reply was soft and direct. "I need to know if you think Salvador Muñoz should die for what he did to you. It is a terrible thing to ask of anyone, but I must know all your reasons - for or against this option."

She raised herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. She sighed. It was a deep and soulful expression. "You are right. It is terrible. I wish I did not have to think about such a thing. But, Francisco, even though it is true that I dislike Salvador very much, I do not want to see another person die. I am recovering. As a matter of fact, I am almost well. I think it would be best to put all of this in the past. I would not want Don Felix or Ines to suffer for the rest of their lives, knowing their son had been hanged or shot."

Francisco put an arm around her shoulder. She snuggled closer. "You are the woman I love, for all the reasons that I love you," he told her. "But Margarita, my dear, there is more at stake than just a jealous young man who attempted to kill you because you refused his advances. Attempted murder alone invites the death penalty. This case, more importantly, is about honor. It concerns your reputation. It is about my honor and the honor of my name and yours. These things are not trifling because honor constitutes our personal dignity and whether we regard ourselves worthy of respect or merely no better than chattel. "

"Could you not challenge him to a duel if you feel that strongly, Darling?" she wanted to know.

"I am afraid Señor Muñoz would not stand a chance," he replied. "But I would not duel with a commoner. It is not our way."

"Is there no other way to deal with this other than to execute him?" Margarita asked.

"I will search for an alternative tomorrow," he told her. "But there is something else that all judges have to take into consideration: the pressure to do what most people feel is right, even though their desires may be misplaced or harsh. And the opinion of the people of the pueblo of Los Angeles at this point in time demands a severe punishment."

*******************

Andrés Franco paused outside the tavern door. Two soldiers guarded the closed entrance. There was a great crowd waiting outside to be allowed in. He saw the heavy-set figure of Maximillian Palacios approach with Felix Muñoz and his wife, Ines. Sebastian Pérez was in tow. Franco stuck out his hand to Palacios and both men greeted each other. "I regret we must meet under these circumstances, Max," Franco told him. "I wish you the best."

"Be prepared for a spirited defense, Andrés," Palacios replied with a smile. The crowd that surrounded them, he knew, was not a friendly one, but he had beaten the odds before.

Finally, the door to the inn was opened and the lawyers walked in. The crowd poured in behind them. Soon the wide room was filled. Every chair and bench was taken. Some of those attending brought their own chairs. The vaqueros hoisted themselves onto the bar and used it as their bench. Their long, thin legs dangled over the edge and their hats were slung behind their necks, suspended by leather chinstraps. From this vantage point, they looked toward the great fireplace where the flag of Spain hung over the wall. A wooden desk and chair stood in front of the fireplace and it is where the Comandante would sit. To the left of the fireplace and in a raised area, the defendant, his lawyer and supporters would sit. To the right, the lawyer and witnesses for the victim would sit. The room buzzed with the loud conversation of all those present.

Alejandro de la Vega, his son, Diego, and their servant, Bernardo, traveled into town in a horse-drawn carriage. Alighting on the far side of the plaza, all three men crossed the plaza toward the crowd that was now surging into the inn. Just as Alejandro crossed the threshold, Diego turned to his manservant and took him aside discreetly. The men exchanged a few signs. Then, Diego entered the room, remaining by the open door and watching as the events unfolded.

There were angry voices from the crowd that still milled outside the inn as Sergeant García and three other soldiers escorted Salvador Muñoz across the plaza from the cuartel.

"Shame! Shame!" shouted several men and women at the young man who walked between the soldiers and looked apprehensive at the hostile stares. His eyes darted from left to right as if seeking an escape. The small group entered the inn and the volume of noise decreased appreciatively, then rose slightly with sounds of disapproval at the prisoner’s appearance.

Diego watched as the young man was seated in a chair, his bound hands in front of him. The two soldiers remained on guard and García made his way back toward the entrance. He spotted the young ranchero in brown immediately and walked up to him. "Good morning, Don Diego," he began.

"Good morning, Sergeant," the tall man replied. "Will the Comandante be here shortly?"

"Sí," the sergeant replied. "I am going to accompany him here from the cuartel." The big soldier looked around the room and then over to the prisoner. "This is a sad day for Los Angeles," he remarked.

"Yes, it is," responded Diego. "Everyone wants justice, but I am not sure what form it will take. What Salvador Muñoz has done is a crime, but to take his life would also be a crime, don’t you think?"

"It is what the Comandante said at the trial of Señor Enríquez," García mused. "But Señor Enríquez did not try to kill a señorita."

"What you say is true," Diego acknowledged. "But surely there are other punishments that can be effective. I hope that, somehow, this will not become a lynching. It would be a sad way to end the term of Capitán de las Fuentes as Comandante of our pueblo."

The big man sighed. "I know what you mean, Don Diego. But, if you will excuse me, please, I must now go to the cuartel."

Within minutes, Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes passed through the tall wooden gates of the cuartel. His stride was firm and there was a saber at his side. He wore his sash of office and on the uniform jacket were three awards from the reign of Carlos IV. The crowd parted in respect and he nodded distractedly to a few who wished him a good morning. The room grew quiet as he stopped in the doorway and surveyed the crowd. He noticed Don Diego de la Vega just inside the door and glanced at him. He made his way toward the fireplace and removed his hat. The two lawyers greeted him and they exchanged a few words. At last he sat at the table and the trial began.

Diego slipped out of the door as it closed and joined his mozo. Bernardo pretended to sign for him to cross the plaza, as if something were urgent. After appearing to inspect something, both men then separated. Diego headed back to the inn. He saw Don Leon Santos heading toward the crowd. Leon hailed him and asked, "Diego, my friend. Has the trial started yet?"

"Just now, Leon," Diego replied. "Let me accompany you inside." Diego opened the door and Leon made his way discreetly over to the right side of the fireplace. He removed his hat and focused on the introduction to the trial by the Comandante who then indicated for Andrés Franco to begin.

Salvador Muñoz stared across the room at the men and women who watched Licenciado Franco state his case. They were people he had known most of his life. They were there to tell about how he shot Margarita Pérez, his escape, and capture. He looked around the room and spotted a few of his gambling partners. They looked right through him.

One by one the witnesses were called. The flower vendor, Señor Gil, spoke of how young Muñoz accosted the young lady; of her insistence to be left alone; of their argument and his insults; and, finally, of the shooting. The señorita was entirely justified in throwing a potted plant at Muñoz, he declared, because not only had Salvador insulted her and made insinuations regarding her friendship with the comandante, he had also insulted the comandante and his honor.

Pepe González, the blacksmith’s son, spoke of how he watched the drama unfold from his father’s shop; how the young man followed the girl across the plaza; their exchanges; seeing the young man fall to the ground when she hit him with the flower pot; When she began to leave Muñoz pulled out the pistol, took aim, and shot her. Pepe insisted the aim was deliberate.

Other men came forward who witnessed the shooting as well and how, it seemed, the accused leaned over the victim to see if she was dead, only to flee when they descended upon him. Most of these men joined the posse that set out to find him and to bring him to justice. It was mentioned that the fugitive was apprehended by el Zorro when he tried to flee California by ship. This comment brought a murmur of surprise and approval by some who did not know the fact.

Another witness came forward to state he and his wife had heard the Señorita Pérez state on more than one occasion that she would never marry Salvador Muñoz.

A key witness, Doctor Aguilera, was called. They grey-bearded doctor came forward to state his findings. "I examined the victim and the nature of the gunshot wound. She was shot at almost point-blank range. If she had not turned at the last moment, the ball would have hit a vital organ." he declared.

After these and other witnesses made their statements, the defense lawyer was invited to speak in favor of the accused.

Maximillian Palacios rose. He said that all the statements heard thus far were merely opinion. The young lady, he said, by the Grace of God, was recovering, and everyone was thankful for that. He emphasized that the incident was the unfortunate outcome of a lovers’ quarrel; that his client had merely over-reacted to being assaulted by a flower pot. Murder was not the intent, he insisted. Salvador Muñoz shot in her direction in his anger, but he did not intend to kill her. No young man wishing the hand of a young lady in marriage would shoot his intended. There was no logic to the assertions that he tried to kill her.

There were murmurs of disapproval from those present in the audience. Palacios pointed out that, in addition, Salvador Muñoz had never been in trouble with the law and this was a first offense. It was his only intention, Palacios claimed, to convince the señorita that her best chances for marriage lay with him and no one else He then called Sebastian Pérez, the victim’s father, as a witness. "Please tell the court your version of these events," Palacios asked him, "and of your daughter and your own relationship to the accused."

Pérez smiled confidently at Salvador, rose and approached the lawyer. He turned toward the audience. "I want to clear the record regarding the behavior of my dear friend, Salvador Muñoz. He reacted as any young man could react to her insulting behavior – by striking out. It is not a crime to defend one’s honor! My daughter deliberately made him miserable on many occasions. She even bought cats to drive him out of our house!" To his surprise, the audience laughed at this, but he continued. "She knew that cats made him ill! This was a deliberate provocation and not Salvador’s fault at all!" He deliberately turned his back on the Comandante who watched all the proceedings in a dispassionate manner. "A father has an obligation to make sure his children do what is right, even if they do not wish to. Margarita has been a rebellious and ungrateful child of whom I am ashamed. She refuses to recognize and respect my responsibility as a parent." He paused, slightly glanced at De las Fuentes, and continued. "I was the one who arranged her marriage with Salvador for her own good. I would never arrange a marriage with someone I did not think worthy of our family. I love Salvador as a son."

The lawyer Franco, with an angry look on his face, interrupted: "And how do you love your daughter, Señor Pérez? By trying to beat her in public! By not standing up for her when someone attempts to murder her!?""

Pérez ignored the lawyer and continued. "Instead, my wishes to arrange her marriage were contravened!" he continued. He turned toward the small man seated at the desk behind him. "They were contravened by the very man who now sits in judgment of these procedures! How can my dear friend receive any justice at all when the ‘judge’ is his enemy? What kind of justice is this?"

This statement caused an immediate uproar in the room. "Shame!" shouted some while others said aloud, "That is an insult to the Comandante!" Maximillian Palacios looked alarmed. This is not what he wanted, to provoke the judge. Franco looked stunned at the attack upon the judge.

Capitán de las Fuentes hit the gavel upon the desk and called the spectators to order. When silence once again descended in the room, he looked Pérez in the eye. "I would like to remind the witness of the focus of this trial," he said in his deep baritone. "The purpose of this trial is the attempted murder of Señorita Pérez by Señor Muñoz."

"Without your interference," Pérez shouted, "this would never have occurred!"

Once again, the spectators were in an uproar, expressing shock at these words.

The Comandante hit the gavel on the desk again. "You, Señor Pérez, are out of order," he stated unequivocally. When Pérez remained glowering at him, the officer stood up and gave the man a withering gaze in return. "Whether you like it or not, Señor, I am the judge at this trial. This trial solely concerns the issue of an attempted murder. I am judge by the authority vested in me by His Majesty, the King of Spain, and as Comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles. If you wish to continue to act as a witness on behalf the defendant, then merely answer the questions directly. If you continue to make speeches, you will be escorted out of the courtroom. However, if you choose to challenge my authority as Comandante and judge, you will be arrested. Make your choice, Señor."

Andrés Franco stood up immediately. "I would like to say that neither I nor Licenciado Palacios had any objection to His Excellency as judge. His objectivity, impartiality, and dedication to achieving justice for all is well-known – and proven – in our pueblo!"

That comment brought affirmative comments from the audience. The captain tapped the gavel again and the audience quieted. "Do you have any further evidence to present regarding the specific act of Señor Muñoz’s attempt to kill your daughter?" he asked.

Sebastian Pérez replied, "It was her fault, not his."

The officer motioned for Pérez to return to his chair. Then he asked if the defense lawyer would like to proceed.

Palacios nodded in agreement but he was not happy with how the proceedings were going. "I would like to call the accused, Salvador Muñoz, next," he requested. When the young man stood before him, the lawyer encouraged him to speak, saying, "Tell us, Salvador, what were your feelings toward the Señorita Pérez?"

Salvador smiled. He had gotten his cue from Pérez. "I felt sorry for her," he explained, "because of her age and the fact that she was still not married. I proposed– several times, to show her she still had a chance to make something of herself. She was going to give in to me eventually because she saw that no one else would have her. My parents love Margarita. Only interference from outside led to our disagreements."

"Isn’t it true," Andrés Franco asked, "that she turned your proposals down several times? At a party at the home of Don César Rodríguez, she publicly announced she would never marry you. Don’t you think that is evidence enough that she had no interest in marrying you at all? How many times must a young lady say no before you understand this?"

Felix Muñoz was nodding sadly at the exchange. He shook his head at his son’s next words.

"Margarita Pérez loves playing the martyr," Salvador declared. "She loves playing hard to get. She was on the verge of giving in. Besides, after our quarrel in the plaza, it was she who attacked me! She bashed me on the head and might have killed me! If anything, I shot her in self-defense!"

There was a murmur of disbelief from the crowd, but over their dissent, a strong voice rang out from far above the audience: "Pardon me, Señor Muñoz, if I strongly disagree – and I have the evidence to prove there is more at stake here than just the attempted murder of a young girl!"

The room grew silent. Every eye swept upwards toward the balcony where the voice came from. Leaning on the railing high over the bar, stood a man in black, with a black mask and cape. Beneath his thin moustache was a familiar, wide smile. Many in the audience gasped, "El Zorro!"  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 39](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante39.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	39. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirty-nine**

Capitán de las Fuentes rose from his chair in order to see the newcomer better. He looked surprised at the appearance of the outlaw.

Sergeant García, who had been nearly napping in his chair, was startled out of his daydreams. He jumped to his feet and his eyes grew large as he saw the masked man on the balcony grinning. "Zorro!" gasped the big man. He turned to the two soldiers guarding the prisoner. "Lancers, seize the outlaw Zorro! Capture him!"

El Zorro drew his sword upon hearing these words, but Capitán de las Fuentes moved forward as well, waving the lancers back. "Let El Zorro approach," he ordered.

"Let El Zorro approach," García repeated dumbly as he watched the Fox descend the stairs with light steps.

"I apologize for my unorthodox appearance, Capitán de las Fuentes," the man in black told the officer, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and crossing the wooden floor toward the officer. "But considering the seriousness of this trial, I felt it necessary to intervene with a few more facts. Justice can never be properly rendered without enough facts. With your permission I would like to do so."

"Do you intend to act as a witness for the accused or for the prosecution?" asked the small officer.

"I must answer ‘Yes’ to both of your questions, Capitán," responded El Zorro who watched expressions of uncertainty, expectancy, and curiosity on the faces of the lawyers and their clients. Only the officer seemed unperturbed. Salvador Muñoz looked very uneasy.

Francisco de las Fuentes turned to each lawyer in turn. "Do either of you object to any evidence El Zorro has to offer in this case?"

Palacios and Franco exchanged quiet words for a moment. Palacios could think of no reason why further evidence should not be heard and Franco welcomed it openly. "We have no objections," he declared.

The captain nodded. "The court will allow you to speak, Señor Zorro." He gestured the man in black to approach the two lawyers. He resumed his seat at the desk and folded his hands on top of the table, leaning forward a bit.

El Zorro looked at the witnesses and at the accused. "There must be a balance in all things," the man in black began. "And in order to achieve a balance – for both sides – there is some information that cannot be left out of these proceedings." He turned to the captain. "At times, we must step out of the limitations imposed upon obvious evidence in order to bring in facts that could determine the outcome. If some of these facts cause discomfort, then I apologize, but they are a necessary part in determining whether there will be justice or a lack of it."

"What is your additional evidence?" De las Fuentes asked.

"A number of weeks ago, a man escaped from jail. That was Señor Enríquez who had been on trial for theft and a number of other issues. Because he had threatened violence against members of the community, as well as the Comandante, the pueblo was put under constant patrol after dark, and the curfew more rigorously enforced."

"What does this have to do with this trial?" asked Palacios.

"It has everything to do with this trial, Señor Palacios," the Fox responded. "Because after these patrols were established, it was more difficult for anyone to move around after dark. But I must tell you that, following his break from prison, I came to Los Angeles in search of the escaped prisoner because of my concern for his declarations to harm everyone associated with his arrest, including Capitán de las Fuentes. One evening, I saw the Comandante walking down the street towards the house of Señor Pérez where he visited the señorita. Later that evening, I saw him leave their residence. It was late at night." The man in black looked at the officer who nodded.

"I followed the Comandante back towards the cuartel, thinking that, perhaps, I had been overly concerned for his safety. After all, has he not brought justice to the pueblo? And yet, his life had been threatened. Then, out of the shadows, a man appeared and began to follow the Capitán. I followed closely, unseen by the stranger who wore a long cloak and slouched hat over his head. When we got close to the cuartel, this man pulled a pistol from the folds of his cloak and began to raise it. He took aim at Capitán de las Fuentes. To make a long story short, we struggled and I disarmed him." The man in black paused and looked at the officer again. "Capitán de las Fuentes was not aware of what happened because he was too far away."

Everyone was now looking very interested in the story that was unfolding.

Then the Fox smiled almost apologetically. "At this point, some men who were trying to avoid curfew violation rushed down the street, unaware that I was upon the verge of discovering who the would-be assassin was. Naturally, I was in an awkward situation and as such, my prisoner escaped without my discovering who he was. However, he left behind a piece of evidence that I would like to present to the court."

"May I see this evidence, Señor Zorro?" De las Fuentes requested.

EL Zorro pulled his cloak aside. From out of its folds, he produced a pistol and held it up for everyone to see. Then he turned toward the officer and presented it to him for his inspection. De las Fuentes examined the weapon and handed it back. "To whom does this pistol belong?" he asked.

"May I ask that question of Don Felix Muñoz?" the Fox requested.

"Don Felix?" The room buzzed with expressions of astonishment and concern from the audience.

Felix Muñoz rose from his chair and approached the man in black. He looked bewildered. "May I see the pistol?" he asked. The graying merchant took the weapon from the black gauntlet and examined it carefully. In a sorrowful tone, he faced the Comandante. "This belongs to Salvador," he said quietly. "I gave it to him many years ago." He turned back toward his son. "Salvador, what have you done?"

Salvador Muñoz blanched. His eyes darted and he made a sudden dash for the door of the inn. A dozen men from the audience leaped to their feet to seize him. The soldiers moved forward and dragged the struggling young man back towards the fireplace.

The room was in an uproar again and the officer had to bang the gavel over and over. When the room finally quieted down, the only sound to be heard was the heartfelt weeping of Ines Muñoz. "This is important evidence," De las Fuentes remarked. "Please continue."

"I am sorry to have to proceed in this manner, Don Felix," Zorro explained, directing his remarks to older man who looked shaken and despondent. "The point is that on this evening, Salvador Muñoz attempted to assassinate the Comandante, Capitán de las Fuentes. But we must ask ourselves ‘why?’ Why would any reasonable man attempt to kill a man of justice? Furthermore, why would any reasonable man keep on persisting to marry a young woman he knew despised him? Everyone in this pueblo knows Señorita Pérez turned down his offers of marriage many times, even publicly. Is it not so?"

A murmur of assent filled the room from the spectators.

The Fox turned toward the Comandante and faced him. "Capitán de las Fuentes, it is necessary to ask ourselves even more questions, questions that may be a little uncomfortable. All these seemingly disparate events need to be tied together in one question – who could gain from such a marriage? I repeat, who would gain from such a marriage? Certainly not the señorita - it would have been a miserable arrangement for her. And Señor Salvador? He had no love for her at all. But if there was no love, what was there? Why would Salvador Muñoz try to kill her in anger that day in the plaza - the day he shot her?" He turned toward Salvador. "Tell us, Señor, did you really wish to marry her out of pity or was it for perhaps something else?"

Salvador just stared at the man in black. He said nothing.

"Perhaps, Señor Salvador is tongue-tied," Zorro smiled. "Then, perhaps we need to ask his perspective father-in-law." He turned toward Sebastian Pérez. "Tell us this, Señor Pérez, why did you insist that Señorita Margarita marry a man she despised? Certainly not for love! Perhaps it might have been something more - something that was a greater prize than a gambling son-in-law who is allergic to cats!"

"What do you mean by that?" Sebastian replied in a hostile manner. "Don Felix and our family have been friends for years. It is natural that we would want a marriage to cement the bonds of our friendship."

"Then, perhaps, Señor Pérez, you will explain the meaning of this document?" El Zorro demanded. He pulled some sheaves of parchment out of his shirt. "First I would like to present them to the judge, and then to the lawyers." He approached the small officer at the desk and handed him the papers.

Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes took the documents read through the sheets slowly and carefully. When he finished, he looked up. "I think you will find these of interest, Señor Palacios."

Maximillian Palacios approached the desk and took the documents. Andrés Franco joined him. When Palacios finished reading the first page, he handed it to Franco. He did so with each succeeding page. When the two lawyers finished reading the document, Palacios looked up at the Comandante. "I have never seen this document before, Your Excellency," he began. "I feel as if my integrity has been compromised." He turned to the man in black. "Where did you get this from?"

"I have my resources," El Zorro smiled. "While it is not my habit to break and enter a home or place of business, sometimes a man must do what is necessary to protect a good man. That man is Felix Muñoz."

There were sounds of confusion from the audience as it hummed once again in reaction to the words of the man in black.

"Allow me to interrupt one moment to explain what this document is," Capitán de las Fuentes said. Franco handed the document back to the officer. "But before I do so, I would like to ask Don Felix to approach the court and inspect it."

Felix Muñoz rose and reached the desk. De las Fuentes handed him the document. Felix leafed through it and looked directly at the Comandante.

"Have you seen this document before, Señor?" asked the officer.

"Yes, I have," Felix said slowly. "Just the other evening, Sebastian asked that I sign it. He said that Señor Palacios had written this in order to help me out. Sebastian wanted me to temporarily hand over my banking and leather goods business to him while I handled the case of my son. I thought that this was a good idea at the time."

"Don Felix, what does the document actually say?" asked El Zorro.

"I did not read it carefully," admitted Felix. "I trusted it because I assumed Señor Palacios to be a man of honor and understood that he had written it."

Francisco de las Fuentes turned to the audience. "I will summarize the document, if I may. In its basic formulation, it is the take-over of Señor Muñoz’s businesses, his accounts, and responsibilities by Señor Pérez."

"That’s a lie!" Sebastian Pérez burst out. "Let me see that document!" he demanded. "Are you going to trust the word of a wanted outlaw?"

"I see no reason why not," the Capitán replied. He looked at Palacios who showed the first page to Pérez, then returned it to the officer. "Would you agree that this is what the document says in its essence?"

"Yes," Palacios agreed. "The writing is in the hand of Sebastian Pérez."

"And you, Señor Franco?"

"Yes, Your Excellency," Andrés Franco affirmed. "It is not meant to be a temporary arrangement, but a permanent one. Don Felix would be left with nothing."

The audience buzzed in such indignation that De las Fuentes had to tap the gavel again.

Don Felix stared at Pérez. "Why, Sebastian? Why?" he asked. His wife, Ines, had dried her tears and glowered at the man in indignation.

El Zorro raised his gloved hand and the room grew quiet. He turned toward the officer in blue and white. "I am afraid, Comandante, that this complicates the trial in more ways than one. Since you yourself, no less than Señorita Pérez, was an intended victim of Señor Salvador Muñoz, it would appear there is a conflict of interest in you presiding as judge at this trial."

"I understand your point, Señor Zorro," the officer calmly acknowledged. "I should like to hear what you propose as an alternative to these proceedings."

There was a hush in the room at these words. The man in black gazed around the room. "What this means is that there are a number of possibilities that present themselves. First, that the trial be postponed until the return of Capitán Monastario, who would then determine the sentencing of the defendant."

The room filled with expressions of indignation. Salvador Muñoz swallowed hard. Things were beginning to go from bad to worse for him. He had no doubt what his fate would be at the hands of Capitán Enrique Monastario.

The masked man held up a gloved hand. "There is another possibility: The trial can be turned over to the Alcalde for completion."

At that comment, a small man with a long, white beard stood up in the front row of the spectators. De las Fuentes recognized the Alcalde. "Under other circumstances, this might be a possibility, Señor Zorro," he said. "But now that an attempt to assassinate the Comandante has been revealed and become part of the evidence at this trial, it again reverts to a military court, not a civil one. The only other possibility is that the next-in-command takes over as judge." The Alcalde could not suppress a smile at his own comment, and the audience began to laugh as well.

De las Fuentes did not even look over at the fat sergeant who was totally oblivious to the discussion going on or its implications. He looked up at the masked man. "And a final possibility?"

"A meeting of all of the aggrieved parties – you, Comandante, the lawyers, and Don Felix. That way, all of you can come to a solution that finds justice for everyone and an appropriate punishment for the accused."

The lawyers huddled around the table and spoke in soft tones with the officer. After several minutes, they stood aside and Francisco de las Fuentes stood up. "It is the decision of the court that a recess be called in order to consider these options." He tapped the gavel. Then, he and the two lawyers left the courtroom for an empty room at the top of the stairs of the inn.

Upon the departure of the judge and lawyers, the spectators’ voices rose appreciably in volume. Everyone was discussing the case and not a few were eyeing the black-caped outlaw in awe and respect.

Sergeant García was nonplussed when the man in black approached him. He was itching to arrest the outlaw and collect the reward of two thousand pesos. But Capitán de las Fuentes had said El Zorro was not an enemy. He looked up at the tall caped man.

"Ah, Sergeant García," the Fox smiled. "We meet again, but under more pleasant circumstances."

"More pleasant circumstances?" the soldier asked curiously. "I do not understand."

"Well, Sergeant, it is like this. For once, you and I are on the same side."

"We are?" asked García uncertainly. "On the same side?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Both of us are guarding Salvador Muñoz and Sebastian Pérez so that they do not escape while the Comandante and the lawyers consult with each other."

"But Señor Zorro, Don Sebastian is not under arrest," García pointed out.

"That is true," The Fox explained, "but he is an important material witness whose excuses for the endangerment of the life of Señorita Pérez have been compromised."

"Oh," replied the fat sergeant. He then drew himself up, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. He turned toward Sebastian Pérez and Salvador Muñoz. "With our unfaltering vigilance," he declared, "no one will escape me!"

El Zorro grinned at that, then turned his attention back to the crowd. He watched his father in earnest conversation with Don Leon and Don Nacho; he saw the head vaquero, Miguel Cisneros, speaking with men of the posse. He drew a line across his throat, then grinned. Peeking out the doorway to the kitchen, he saw Conchita Cortéz gazing at him with unabashed admiration, and the gypsy, Pilar Montoya at the back corner. His eyes swept back to the defendants. He saw Felix and Ines Muñoz in intense conversation.

And in a room up over the bar, three men sat in a room and debated the new evidence that an outlaw had provided. As the officer watched the pacing lawyers, one turned to him suddenly.

"Capitán de las Fuentes," Andrés Franco began. "As Comandante, you need no reason to not now hang Salvador Muñoz. Any man who would attempt to assassinate you, and then shoot the señorita, has no conscience. The law gives you the right, not just as Comandante, but as a nobleman, to execute anyone for treason. How treason is defined is up to you."

Maximillian Palacios objected. "Salvador was acting on behest of another and did not understand the full ramifications of his actions. He has never been in trouble with the law before and should not be given the death penalty. It is a cruel form of punishment. Let us find another means by which to punish him instead."

"You heard Doctor Aguilera testify that she had been shot at almost point-blank range," Franco countered. "That is intent to murder. The very fact he was armed showed his intent was to kill."

"Most men carry side-arms," insisted Palacios, "including you, Andrés."

"There is also the issue of honor, Capitán," Franco continued. "The honor of a much loved and respected young señorita \- a señorita who has never done anything harmful to anyone - is also at stake."

"But the señorita has recovered, or almost recovered," Palacios said forcibly. "And the question of honor is not absolute. Capitán Monastario, for example, dishonors justice and oppresses people as comandante, but even El Zorro does not demand his death." He looked pointedly at the small man. "If you do not wish to continue with this trial, Capitán," he suggested, noting the lack of expression on the comandante’s face, "then you could appoint the Alcalde to preside over the trial and declare it a civil matter."

"But, as Comandante, he would have to relinquish his responsibilities to the next ranking soldier at the cuartel," Franco pointed out. "That would be Sergeant García who has no experience in conducting trials and, besides, is not qualified. Capitán de las Fuentes has never relinquished his command to anyone, not even when he was, um, indisposed."

Palacios raised his hand and addressed De las Fuentes. "As a final point, the fact that Salvador Muñoz tried to kill you, Capitán, in addition to the señorita, means a second trial for murder. We must stick to the issue of his attempted murder of Señorita Pérez in this trial."

Andrés Franco insisted that more was at stake. "Salvador Munoz is no youth, no dreamer whose excuse of youthful passion can excuse his actions, Your Excellency. As a matter of fact, he exhibited all the passions of hatred for his victim, not pity or love. He deliberately baited her despite her numerous refusals."

After hearing these and other arguments, Francisco de las Fuentes made a decision. He told Palacios, "I would like you to ask Don Felix Muñoz and El Zorro to now join us."

************************

Sergeant García found himself hoping the trial would end soon. The meeting upstairs must have gone on for at least an hour. He longed for the bar to be re-opened so he could have some wine. Reyes would be off duty that evening and perhaps he would be generous in sharing his largess. Recently, their duty hours had been almost the opposite. That made it more difficult for him to meet up with his friend.

The audience in the improvised courtroom continued to buzz in speculation of what the sentence would be. Outside the tavern, a few men began to make bets over the verdict. Only a short mozo in brown with thinning hair on the top of his head shook his head at the gestures of the gamblers and offered a peso against the death penalty. The crowd laughed at him.

Finally, the door above opened and five men headed down the stairs. First, was the Comandante, who walked to the desk and sat down. He was followed by the two lawyers, Don Felix, and finally the masked man.

The audience grew quiet.

The Comandante began to speak. "There are many kinds of justices in our kingdom," he explained, "and often the concept of justice is abused for political reasons or even personal ones." He paused and glanced at the man in black. "The administration of justice in this case cannot and will not be used for reasons of vengeance."

The spectators leaned forward in anticipation and curiosity. No one quite knew what to expect next. The expression on the face of the masked man was solemn. Those looking at him could get no hint as to what was to come.

Francisco de las Fuentes turned toward the defendant. "The sole purpose of this case is to focus on the attempted murder of a young woman by this young man. Whether premeditated or not, it constitutes a crime that cannot go unpunished by society nor by what the law permits."

Miguel Cisneros and a few others smiled in anticipation of what was to follow.

"And yet, we must ask ourselves, what is the purpose of punishment or the kind of punishment that is administered? Some would argue that it should be an example to others and a threat of what consequences would follow should such a similar act be committed by someone else. That is to presume that the same motives and actions would take place by different individuals, which is generally not the case. Each case is unique and different unto itself and should be judged as such. If not, then the stage is set for injustice to occur. No judge should avoid the responsibility of making a moral selection."

The Capitán looked out at the audience and ran his eyes over a few of the men who had expressed hostility to the defendant. "The purpose of the administration of justice is to see that punishments are reasonable and serve a purpose. The purpose should be to teach the defendant that his actions, and his reasons for his actions, are unacceptable to society. They should also be a part of his reeducation in becoming a more responsible member of society."

There was a slight hum in the audience at these words. Cisneros frowned.

De las Fuentes looked directly at Salvador Muñoz. "It should be pointed out, for the sake of the defendant’s enlightenment, that the kind of punishment administered is, in part, based upon the recovery of the victim of his attack. He must understand that the options for punishment might have been vastly different and much more severe should the victim have died or been permanently disabled."

Sebastian Pérez sat back in his chair, his eyes moving between Salvador, the officer, and the masked man who stood fairly close to him. He stared at the lawyer Palacios as the Comandante continued.

"The question of honor has been raised, the question of a señorita’s honor, and how it was infringed upon by this young man’s insulting behavior and act of violence. The court acknowledges this. But I have to add, that the honor of the defendant’s own family, that of his parents, their good name and reputation, has also been grievously impinged upon. How can this be rectified as well? It is no small thing that a child can do, even a grown child, than to disparage the name and honor of his family."

Salvador looked over at his parents in alarm. His father’s expression was unreadable.

The audience now waited in anticipation of the verdict.

"There are many kinds of punishments available, but they should be appropriate to the individual," De las Fuentes concluded. "After due consultation with both lawyers, the defendant’s father, and the judge, the court now renders a verdict." The officer turned towards the young man. "Señor Salvador Muñoz, please rise and face the court."

Salvador got slowly to his feet. His expression was grim.

"The court finds the defendant, Salvador Muñoz, guilty of the attempted murder of Señorita Margarita Pérez," the officer said slowly and clearly in his deep baritone. He paused so that the statement would sink in. "The punishment agreed upon by all parties will seem somewhat ironic but perhaps appropriate in more ways than one. That punishment is as follows: in order to rectify the besmirching of the good name of Muñoz, you are hereby to be disinherited by your family. Lacking any kind of financial support from them will then require you to seek gainful employment. Since you have no job skills, and the sport of gambling does not qualify you for an honest position in business, it has been determined that you will have to seek skills elsewhere which will give you an appreciation of what effort it takes to become worthy of respect. Only when you have achieved this goal and can return in honor to California, will your family welcome you back. You have, Señor, a formidable task before you."

There was a murmuring in the audience and many nodded in agreement while others shook their heads.

The officer continued. "The court wishes to state the fact that the victim, Señorita Pérez, bears the defendant no permanent ill will and specifically asked that the death penalty not be imposed." He gave Salvador a hard look and added, "It was this request that led the court not to take more severe measures in determining your fate, Señor."

De las Fuentes looked at Sebastian Pérez and added. "This quality of mercy, in the face of abuse and acts of violence, can only commend itself more to the victim and be an abject lesson in how we should treat our fellows."

He turned back to Salvador. "Finally, you shall be returned to the jail in the cuartel until arrangements are made to take you to the port of San Pedro. There, you will be apprenticed to a man well-acquainted with your father and known for his vigilance and exactitude – Capitán Aristotle Silva."

"But that’s a sentence worse than death," Salvador moaned. "Silva is a slave driver…"

Capitán de las Fuentes turned back toward the audience and tapped his gavel. "Thus is the verdict of this court."

As the noise in the room rose to an appreciable level, El Zorro grinned at the disconsolate Salvador Muñoz as he was being led from the room. "Ah, Señor Muñoz," he said cheerfully, "do not feel so bad. After all, you will have a first-class escort to San Pedro and I will be following at a distance to make sure there are no undue escapes!"

Francisco de las Fuentes waited until all the witnesses and spectators had left the room. He approached the man in black who began to head toward the stairs. "Señor Zorro, a moment more of your time, please."

The man in black turned back towards the officer. "Yes, Comandante?"

"Señor Zorro," he began in his deep baritone, "I have not yet had the opportunity to thank you for all that you have done for me, and for my wife, Margarita. Without your aid, your vigilance, wisdom and courage, justice would have suffered here in Los Angeles. You saved my life on more than one occasion. How can I possibly repay you for all your kindnesses and loyalty?"

El Zorro saw the open earnestness on the face of the small officer and knew that the time had come. He genuinely liked De las Fuentes and greatly respected the verdict he had just rendered in the case of Salvador Muñoz. Not too many men in power would have tried to find a humane solution rather than take the easier route to death when faced by popular sentiment to do so. The officer had not abused his privilege nor his authority when the temptation to do so was present. But there was one final test he wished to give the prince. "The price I am asking," he replied, "is very high."

De las Fuentes did not even pause. "Money is no object, of course. Whatever you ask, I will gladly pay."

"This is not about money, Your Excellency," the masked man explained. "It is something that requires more of you."

"I’m afraid I do not understand," the officer responded uncertainly.

"My price is this – for me, and for all the men and women of the pueblo who helped you, who rallied to find and to defend you – that you play upon your violin or piano for us. That is my price."

Francisco looked taken aback at his words. His expression became one of great concern. "You must realize, Señor Zorro, that I cannot possibly put myself on display before the pueblo in such a manner." He was very upset. It occurred to him that Señor Zorro could not possibly know who he was and therefore, did not understand the gravity of his request. He was almost tempted to reveal to the bandit who he really was. For the first time, he teetered on the brink of uncertainty. "I am….noble."

"Comandante," El Zorro told him gently, "I am not asking you to perform before the entire pueblo in the market place. I am only asking for you to play before those men and women in a place of culture that will be as dignified a setting as it was for the young ladies who played for you. Now, given this scenario, is this such a difficult wish to fulfill?"

Francisco relaxed, now almost embarrassed at his initial response. "Please forgive me," he requested. "Under these circumstances, I shall indeed meet your price, if that is all that you wish to request of me." He gave the tall man a look of askance. "Would you not wish, in addition, a pardon?"

The man in black gave him an irrepressible grin. "A pardon? No, thank you, Comandante. That would take all the fun out of being an outlaw!"

Francisco nodded knowingly in return. "Then, if you do not object, I will issue you a temporary reprieve, a grant of immunity, to attend my concert."

El Zorro flashed him another wide grin as he ascended the stairs. At the top, at the balcony, he looked down at the officer and two lawyers who remained in the room. "That favor, I will accept!" He gave a wave of his gauntleted hand. "Until the concert, Capitán de las Fuentes!" and he was gone.

Andrés Franco and Maximillian Palacios were shaking their heads when the officer turned back towards them with an amused expression on his face.

"You know, this is not the first time the outlaw, Zorro, has aided justice in this pueblo, Capitán," Franco told him.

The officer only smiled. "You know, he’s not _really_ an outlaw."

"Try telling that to Capitán Monastario, Your Excellency," Palacios remarked dryly.

Francisco de las Fuentes looked up at the now empty balcony and said thoughtfully. "I believe that I shall."  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 40](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante40.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	40. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Forty**

The patio and sala of César and Ramona Rodríguez’s home were extraordinarily festive. If possible, the decorations, flowers and décor surpassed anything seen before. It was by no accident. All the families of the dons had contributed their finest objects of beauty, including paintings, chairs and even tableware for the event. Streamers of colorful cloth flapped in the cool night air; candles of all sizes had been collected to brighten the house and reflect their power multifold in the great mirrors that hung in the rooms of the sala and dining area.

At the entrance to the patio, to solemnly open the door was the dignified Martín Martínez, absent without the approval of his employer, Sebastian Pérez. Just inside the entrance to their home, César and Ramona, dressed in their finest attire, greeted their guests with a hearty "Welcome." On a long table in the dining room were plates loaded with confections, cheeses, meats, late fruit of the season and nuts. Wine was served by a smiling Conchita Cortéz.

In the sala, leafing through some music scores stood a small man in white silk stockings and black shoes with small silver buckles. The pants were old-fashioned, cream-colored culottes with buttons on the sides just above the knee with small gold buckles, likewise on the side just below the knee, to hold the pants in place. He wore a long waistcoat of red and the coat itself was black with golden buttons and gold trim which ran from the high neck of the coat to the waist. Even the flared cuffs were trimmed with gold. Peeking out at the cuff-line was a white shirt with lacey embroidery. It was unmistakably the wardrobe of the mid-previous century. His hair was covered with a long, dark brown wig in ringlets that reached far below his shoulders, something he was not particularly happy with, but it did suit the occasion. He simply hated wigs, seventeenth century or not. Don César told him it was, after all, only for one evening and besides, it lent dignity and an air of the Royal Court to the spectacle. It was César’s best theatrical wig!

At the small man’s side was a pretty, slender young woman in an elegant dress of blue with long sleeves and a beautifully embroidered black wool shawl. She wore her light-brown hair long and loose despite her recent married status and around her neck was the golden medallion of Saint Francis. She had not stopped complimenting him on his attire from the moment his servant had unpacked it from his trunk and laid it out on their bed. She thought it looked so romantic. He handed her a red rose and she tucked it over her ear playfully. Then she whispered to him, "I’m a little nervous."

Francisco de las Fuentes smiled. "So am I. I have never played before anyone outside a private home and only in an intimate setting among friends."

"I find it hard to believe that you would be nervous about anything," Margarita responded in surprise. "You were a judge at the trials, a general in Spain, and an explorer to our New World."

He leaned closer and whispered confidentially. "But in all these things I could make mistakes and no one would question it or perhaps even recognize the errors. But here, one must perform flawlessly or at least to one’s best ability."

"I just hope **_I_** don’t make any mistakes," she sighed.

"We won’t," Francisco said confidently. Then he looked over to the door and saw that a very special group of individuals had arrived. He took Margarita’s arm saying, "I want you to meet the people who saved my life."

César and Ramona greeted the Indians at the door and bid them welcome. The Californians watched as a man in remarkable attire and with very long curly hair approach them. At his side was a slender young woman. It was with difficulty that they recognized the man who had spent so much time with them in the hidden valley. Likewise, the Indians wore their finest furs and moccasins.

Francisco greeted the elder Indian, a shaman named Grey Feather, who was accompanied by a young man. De las Fuentes recognized the young boy with the flute at once. Next to the elderly man was Blue Feather whom most of the whites knew as Juan from the mission of Padre Felipe. In the rear, was a young Indian woman, modestly attired in the white dress of a serving woman with her own woven shawl. Her eyes were wide as she stared around the room at the great mirrors with the flickering candles, at the paintings on the walls, at the clothing of the Spaniards and the abundance of food. She especially appraised the dress and jewelry of the Spanish girl with the long brown hair who smiled at her. She recognized with a kind of shock the small man whom she had cared for during the many days at the cave of her people. How different and impressive he looked even without the blue, red and white military uniform. She reached out to touch the clothing in wonder and then drew back shyly behind the men. De las Fuentes introduced Margarita to them as his wife and thanked them for making the long journey into town. Not a few faces in the crowd that surrounded them looked displeased at the presence of the Indians, but the native Californians were the guests of the Comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles.

Ramona led the natives towards the table with food and handed them plates. There was not a dish that they did not sample and the confections seemed to please them the most along with the slices of meats and nuts.

The Indian girl continued to stare at Francisco in between sampling the food and swallowing the juice. Finally, Margarita whispered in his ear, "Francisco, that girl is watching you like a cat. Who is she?"

Her husband smiled. "I never learned her name, but she cooked all the meals for me at the sacred cave. It seems she took quite a fancy to me," he jested. "Grey Feather, the Shaman, told me that she liked looking into my eyes. No doubt this was a novelty for her."

"Well," Margarita responded mischievously, "I am glad it did not take any longer for you to heal than it did. She might have started making plans for the two of you!"

He chuckled. "But she did not count on the plans we had made for each other."

Margarita beamed at that.

Miguel Cisneros made a point of standing as far away from the Indians as he could. He was overheard remarking that things went too far when savages were invited to listen to something they could not possibly understand or appreciate. If the native Californians overheard him, they gave no indication. Their eyes were fastened on the small man and his wife as they arranged the music and their instruments. Padre Felipe arrived and greeted them. He explained what would happen at the gathering of the whites.

Soon the room was crowded with guests sitting in chairs and on benches. Alejandro chatted with Don Nacho and his wife, Luisa, and the other dons who took their places in the front row.

Francisco de las Fuentes looked around as if expecting to see someone. He was relieved when Martín whispered in his ear that an unusual stranger was waiting to speak to him just outside the patio. He excused himself and walked casually out to the dark gate. There he met with a tall man in black with a mask that half-covered his face.

"I am honored that you are attending my recital," the Comandante told him. "My wife, Margarita, and I have reserved a special place of honor for you in the front row."

"Thank you, Capitán," El Zorro told him. "It is I who am honored to attend. However, for security purposes, I hope you will not mind if I watch and listen to your recital from the balcony inside. I am, if you recall, still a wanted outlaw."

"But you are granted immunity this evening," Francisco told him. He paused. "You may attend our event in any way which is suitable to your concerns. The chair is still reserved for you should you wish to occupy it."

"You do me a great courtesy, Capitán de las Fuentes, and I shall never forget it," the man in black told him. "And now, it is time to begin."

Juan Muñoz appeared before the crowd and announced that the event was about to commence. The hum of voices in the rooms faded into silence as men and women, even a few children, took their seats. César Rodríguez stood before them as master of ceremonies. The recital will be varied, he announced, with quintets, quartets, trios, duos and solos. He introduced himself, his wife, Ramona, Juan Muñoz, and Don and Doña de las Fuentes as the musicians who would perform. All five bowed low before the audience, then took their seats at their instruments.

Alejandro de la Vega looked around for his son who came in quietly through the door and sat next to his father. Alejandro was slightly annoyed by his son’s tardiness, but this soon passed as they, and those present, listened to the music flowing from the quintet.

The evening’s agenda unfolded according to a bill passed around among the audience: chamber music – starting from the previous mid-century up to the latest fashion in Europe.

The first piece began. It was a quick light piece by George Friedrich Handel, the Harp Concerto in B-flat major, which featured a grand floor harp played by Ramona Rodríguez. The dark-haired woman’s fingers nimbly plucked the strings while her husband and the Comandante accompanied her on violin. The second piece was a cello concerto by Antonio Vivaldi and featured a man most were not acquainted with, Juan Muñoz. The De la Vegas immediately appreciated the multi-role that the prince’s servant played. It was a slow and soulful piece and showed the man an accomplished musician in his own right.

The audience was captivated by the playing of instruments. There was a general expectation when De las Fuentes began. He took up an instrument, the viola, looking much like a large violin, and played a short, enormously dignified and dramatic piece by Georg Phillip Telemann, the Viola Concerto in G Major. Diego could not help but think how the piece personified the prince in so many ways. As the music picked up and became quite lively, he saw the officer turn imperceptivity towards Margarita as if playing the piece for her alone, oblivious to the audience. The skill with which his fingers moved over the strings and handled the horsehair-string bow was impressive, for the piece gave full measure to the range of the instrument.

From the end of this piece, the tone of the music changed greatly as a new era of music was introduced. Mozart, the greatest composer of all times was featured both in piano, violin, and flute. Excerpts from the most well-known and popular music filled the air of the sala – from the Flute Quartet in D Major to pieces for violin and piano and for violin alone. De las Fuentes moved adroitly from instrument to instrument, while the Rodríguezes did the same, giving the audience an even greater appreciation of the knowledge and skill of their own local maestros. Margarita played as flawlessly as she had wished in duos with her husband as well as by herself.

After an hour, there was an intermission. Players and the guests mingled once again. Some discussed the performances with great enthusiasm. The Indians spoke quietly among themselves and to Padre Felipe who explained that the music they listened to represented the best of European culture.

"If all whites played such music and offered it to our people as is done tonight," Blue Feather mused, "then there would be no time – or reason - for the unpleasantness between our peoples."

Sergeant García lingered around the food table watching every tidbit consumed by the other guests and generously helping himself to the largess. His dark eyes took in the finery about him. He thought about how he was going to surprise the Comandante with his song. He had several glasses of wine before Diego de la Vega approached him.

"Good evening, Sergeant," the young man greeted him.

"Good evening, Don Diego," the soldier replied.

"You know, Sergeant, you look very elegant in that cape. I would have never recognized you, except for one thing."

"What is that?" the big man asked in astonishment.

"Your height," Diego replied. "You must be the tallest man in the room."

"Sí, Don Diego," García replied. "With this cape, with this very fine cape, it is hard to recognize Sergeant García the soldier."

"What do you think of the performance here tonight?" the young man asked.

"Well, Don Diego," García began, "it is very nice. I never heard such music before, but," the big man hesitated. "I must tell you a little secret."

The young man in blue drew closer. "What is your secret?"

"The Comandante and the Señora Comandante play very well. So does Don César and the Señora Ramona. Even the comandante’s servant, Señor Juan plays well. But, to tell the truth, I prefer my soldiers’ songs."

"Don’t you like the songs I taught you for the Comandante?" Diego asked as if surprised at the soldier’s revelations.

"Oh, sí, Don Diego, I like them very much. But they are songs, something I can sing."

"I understand, Sergeant," Diego replied.

"Do you?" García still seemed uncertain. "I do not wish to insult anyone, especially these musicians."

"Sergeant, you don’t insult anyone. It’s just that you prefer one kind of music and these musicians prefer another kind. There is nothing wrong with that," the young man reassured him. "By the way, when were you going to sing your songs?"

"Don César told me that after the Comandante plays his violin, he will introduce me. Then I will sing the songs. Don César knows that this will be a surprise for the Comandante."

"I am sure that it will be," Diego smiled. "And I look forward to hearing you sing as well. You have such a fine voice." He gestured towards the sala. "It looks like it is time to take our places again."

*********************

A lone carriage traveled the wide dirt road toward the pueblo of Los Angeles. Winter rains had whipped the coast of central California and had delayed the trip for several days. Inside the coach, a young, dark-haired officer with a moustache and goatee fumed at all the delays, but there wasn’t much he could do about it except berate the hapless escort that accompanied him from Monterey. The going was slow because even with the lighted lanterns that hung from the sides of the coach and illuminated the dark roadway meant that the coach could only go at a slow pace in the dark.

Capitán Enrique Monastario was eager to get back to the pueblo. He imagined that no one could possibly take his place and guide the pueblo with his stern, but benevolent hand. He suspected that the officer who took his place would be quite unprepared for the antics of the outlaw, Zorro, who had, no doubt, taken advantage of the situation while he was away. Monastario was sure that a calamity awaited him upon his return to Los Angeles. He was, therefore, surprised, when at the outskirts of the town, his carriage was stopped by a patrol of four men. When they saw who it was, the soldiers were unable to completely hide their dismay. Monastario was irritated, but somewhat impressed with the patrols. He wondered if he and his replacement might share something in common in regards to the need of constant vigilance and firm control over the pueblo.

Within minutes, a carriage drawn by two horses drew up in front of the cuartel. The soldiers hurriedly saluted when the officer thrust his head out the window and gestured for the gates to be opened. The carriage and escort entered the cuartel.

The officer alighted out of the coach and looked around in expectation. After a few minutes he demanded, "And where is Sergeant García?"

A young soldier with a pencil moustache, Hugo Ríos, hurried over. "He is in town with the Comandante," he said, saluting.

"No doubt at the tavern," Monastario frowned.

"Oh, no, Señor Capitán," the soldier told him. "They are attending a recital at the home of Don César Rodríguez."

"Oh," Monastario began, then stopped dead in his tracks. "They are **_where, attending a what_**?" He barely heard the repeated reply of the private. "Then who has been left in charge of the cuartel?"

"Corporal Reyes," Ríos told him. "But he is cleaning…"

The slender man interrupted him impatiently, "Come with me, soldier. This Comandante must not realize the importance of having someone competent placed in charge while he is gone. And he must be informed immediately of my return."

************************

Three young ladies whispered among themselves just a few words during the beginning of the recital. One had seen El Zorro at the gate talking with the Comandante and had told her friends. All three were disappointed that their hero in black had not occupied the chair of honor in the front row with the distinguished dons, but Ismaida’s sharp eyes spotted a figure in black above in the balcony as the recital proceeded and pointed out his presence to her friends, Juanita and Josefina. She nudged Diego de la Vega in the back and pointed to the balcony. Diego looked appropriately impressed as did a few others who followed the direction of the girl’s pointing finger.

A flute began to play, a very lively piece by César Rodríguez. The other four members of the group looked uncertain as if they were not expecting this departure from the music schedule. They had just finished playing music from the immortal Franz Joseph Hayden. César halted, smiled, and announced a surprise soloist and gestured towards the back of the audience. A huge man in an impressive red cloak stepped forward and began to sing at the behest of the flutist who accompanied him:

"I’m the bird catcher, that’s me

I’m always happy, whoop-dee-dee!

As the bird catcher I am known

By young and old throughout the land.

I’m a natural at setting decoys,

And I can whistle like all the birds!

And, with competition, nonexistent,

I know that all the birds belong to me."

Francisco de las Fuentes was delighted and watched the big man perform with gusto the songs he had learned from Don Diego. They were from the very popular Mozart opera, The Magic Flute. And the part was of the birdman, Papageno, beloved of all audiences.

Outside the home of the Rodríguez family, a young officer and soldier halted in the street. Capitán Enrique Monastario held up a hand. "That sounds like García’s voice," he remarked and gestured for the soldier to open the gate for him. "No doubt drunk again." He strode in, across the stone patio, halted and peered in through one of the barred windows. Within was a surprisingly large number of people and Monastario recognized many with dissatisfaction – the De la Vegas, the Torres family, and other malcontents. Then he spotted the object of his wrath. He burst into the home without warning and unceremoniously, brushing aside a frail, elderly gentleman at the door who attempted to quiet him. He strode toward the big man.

García was in the middle of the next verse:

> > "The bird catcher, that’s me.

I’m always happy, whoop-dee-dee!

As the bird catcher I am known

By young and old throughout the land.

Though what I’d really like is a trap for

Girls…."

"Sergeant García!" roared a familiar sounding voice. The song died on the big man’s lips and everyone in the room turned in their chairs toward a slender uniformed figure who approached the fat sergeant with quick steps. "What do you think you are doing?"

The big man looked dismayed and confused. "Capitán, I am…," he began.

Monastario looked him over and pulled aside the bright red cloak that covered his sergeant’s jacket. "You’re out of uniform," he accused as he began to berate the unhappy soldier.

There was a quick movement from the musical group. A small man in silk stockings and a richly adorned black coat with gold trim strode purposefully toward the pair. In a deep baritone, a voice informed the officer, "You, Señor, are interrupting our recital!"

Monastario turned to the small man with pockmarks who stood before him with a violin and bow in his hands. He looked the man over and smirked at his old-fashioned attire, despite its richness and obvious splendor. Such a character was not worth his attention. He turned back toward the sergeant. "García, get back to the cuartel at once."

García eyed the small man while stuttering nervously, "I am sorry, Capitán. The Comandante said that I could…"

" **I am** the Comandante, García," the officer told him impatiently, "and you will do as you are told."

Monastario was interrupted by the small man who asserted firmly, "No, Señor, you are not. The command has not reverted to you by the officer in charge." He turned to the nervous soldier. "Sergeant García you may remain to finish your presentation."

"Silence, you idiot," Monastario retorted as he spun on the man. How dare this civilian try to usurp his authority! Nevertheless, his reprimand resulted in several of the dons standing up in astonishment and anger. He vaguely felt a reaction of great indignation from the small man, but he ignored the civilians. The officer was, however, distracted by the sudden movement of a young woman from the performing group who appeared at the side of the gentleman in the long wig. He recognized her at once. "Señorita Pérez."

Margarita was indignant. "How dare you insult my husband!" she began. The small man placed his hand on the sleeve of her arm to restrain her.

"Your husband?" Monastario gave her a look of mock surprise and responded with a small bow. "My humble apologies. So, you finally married." He looked the small man over again and smirked. "Forgive me, Señora, but you disappoint me. I thought you would have done much better than this!" He gave the small man a gesture of contempt.

There were more gasps from the audience at his words, but Monastario was only intent on taking García in hand. He was taken aback when the deep voice of the small man asked in a challenging way, "Who **_is_ _this_** insufferable bore?" Monastario swung back around to face the small man who continued in a calm but indignant manner, "You, Señor, are a sorry excuse for an officer and you are no gentleman."

" ** _Really_**?" Monastario retorted with narrowed eyes. "Stand aside or I’ll arrest you for …" He was further infuriated by the additional interruption of the small man whose commanding voice carried over his own.

"You shall do no such thing!" the man in old-fashioned attired declared. He added pointedly, "You offend me, Señor. You offend me greatly - and all those who have gathered here for an evening of culture and refined entertainment."

"And how do you propose to stop me from arresting you, Señor?" Monastario responded in a mocking voice. He drew his sword to indicate his intent and pointed it at the man.

With a quick movement, Francisco poked him in the chest with the bow of the violin. "You will stand down, Señor, or suffer the consequences."

"And do you propose to fight me with your bow?" Monastario asked sarcastically. "Take care that you do not try my patience or I will consign you to the tomb."

There were more gasps at his words from those present. Don Alejandro, Diego, Don Leon and others moved behind the small man in a show of force and support.

De las Fuentes drew himself up to his full height, if not more. "My honor is being impugned upon," he said slowly and solemnly as if to everyone in the room, not just to the young officer facing him. He turned to Don Alejandro de la Vega who stood behind him. "I request from you the borrowing of your fine blade."

A dozen voices all chimed in dismay, "Your Excellency!"

Don Alejandro and his son, Diego, implored him, "Please, Your Excellency, do not let him draw you into a fight." Events, like the exchange of the two men, had moved much faster than anticipated. But the small man insisted. Alejandro reluctantly gave him his sword. He knew that if he had not, others would have offered theirs.

Diego was visibly dismayed. "Capitán Monastario has a wicked blade," he warned the small man who nodded in acknowledgement of the fact. The young man looked around in a distracted manner, up towards the balcony. His look was caught by the three girls who searched with their eyes for the figure in black there who seemed to have disappeared.

Monastario was eager to shed a little easy blood. He watched the small man first remove his coat, then his wig. He twirled his own blade a little in anticipation and wore an eager look.

"Capitán Monastario, please do not do this," García implored.

"Silence, baboso," Monastario responded easily.

"I must warn you, Señor, that you have one last chance apologize to me and my wife," the man in silk remarked as he took the don’s blade and examined it, feeling its weight in his hand and shifting the sword back and forth.

Monastario continued with his insults. "I give you one last chance to play your fiddle instead, _Excellency_." He said the last word with a sneer.

Margarita wrung her hands. "Francisco, I…"

"It’s perfectly all right, Dear," he replied. "You need not fear for me, only for this.." he gave Monastario a scathing look of his own, "barbarian."

Now it was Monastario’s turn to be stung by words. He gestured towards the patio. "I will not detain you for long."

"Nor I, you," asserted Francisco de las Fuentes.

****************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 41](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante41.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	41. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Forty-one**

Don César was appalled by the turn of events. He approached several dons, taking their arms at the elbow. "My friends, what can we do?"

Don Alejandro shook his head. "I am not sure we can do anything. It seems His Excellency is as eager to put Capitán Monastario in his place as the Capitán is to do his worst." Alejandro watched as Diego moved toward the front door. "Diego, where are you going?"

The young man turned. "I was going to check on Bernardo. He was outside in the street when Capitán Monastario arrived. I wish to make sure he is all right."

"Do not leave quite yet, my son," the white-haired don insisted. "I most certainly will volunteer to be His Excellency’s second. There are others who will do the same." There was a murmur of assent from the men who surrounded him.

Margarita approached Diego. She was in great distress. "Diego, is there anything you can do to stop this?" She turned to the other dons. "Will anyone do anything to stop this?" She saw a general shaking of heads.

"I would like to, Doña Margarita," Alejandro responded, "but I think your husband is determined to see this through."

"But everyone knows that Capitán Monastario will not fight honorably," she said tearfully.

"Doña Margarita," Diego asked gently. "Has Don Francisco ever told you about his agility with the blade?"

The other men, his father, and Margarita looked surprised at his question. "Why, no, Diego," she replied. "Francisco has never mentioned this at all. Did he tell you that?"

Diego seemed to remember an incident. "I believe that he mentioned it in passing, but I don’t remember when," he said in a distracted manner. He joined the general movement toward the patio door as the two men began to square off. He allowed others to push past him. But, Margarita took his arm and held it firmly as she watched the spectacle. It would not be easy to leave the scene.

Enrique Monastario watched his opponent prepare himself with a few stretches and blade movements. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the style of a man quite familiar with fight preparation, but the officer was determined to give his opponent no chance. "Are you not a little old for this?" he taunted.

"Old enough to teach you a lesson or two," the small man replied. There was a small smile under his upturned moustaches as his eyes flicked over the officer, watching his every movement. He indicated he was ready to start. The two men faced off. Their blades were slightly pointing down as if each were daring the other to begin first.

The officer in blue and white decided on a volt, a sudden movement to take his opponent by surprise. He executed this by charging with his blade straight out and with a quick, one, two, three forward. His opponent side-stepped his charge and moved out of the way with ease. Monastario pivoted quickly, moving his sword with several turns of the wrist, but the small man turned as well and brushed aside his every move with grace.

Two blades continued to contact each other, then parry, time after time, then, begin a new course of attack – none of which were successful. Monastario decided upon a new strategy – to wear down his opponent, a man at least fifteen years older than himself, he guessed. He moved toward a lantern, grasped it and hurled it towards the musician. But the pockmarked man showed himself quite agile, taking the fewest number of steps to avoid the hurtles thrown his way and remaining quite calm in the heat of battle. Yet, the clash of steel quickened as the two fighters moved their way around the patio.

The crowd watched, first in apprehension, then in appreciation of the level of battle unfolding before them. This would be no easy victory for Monastario and, as of yet, they had seen no major attack by Don Francisco.

Alejandro was heard to say in delight, "Don Francisco knows the blade!" There was a murmuring of assent around him. "It seems you have also married a formidable warrior," Diego told the worried young woman at his side. Margarita felt the medallion of Saint Francis at her throat and clasp it both hands, uttering a silent prayer. She let go of his arm as she watched the two men battle, frozen in fear and dread.

The attacks came from high and low, but Francisco de las Fuentes knew all the movements. He recognized that Capitán Monastario was an accomplished swordsman as well, but he had a major weakness, among others: that was his anger and frustration. His eagerness to shed blood also made him more reckless as well as dangerous, but Francisco had faced such men before.

"Tell me, how can you, a capitán, take so long in dispatching me?" the small man remarked as if making casual conversation. "This feels more like a dance than a fight."

‘I will teach you to dance, musician," Monastario breathed as he slashed away.

"We musicians have much to teach," the other responded, parrying all the blows. "Perhaps if you had as much an aptitude for culture as you do for bad manners, you could learn to sing as well."

"My blade does my singing for me," Monastario declared. Once again his blade failed to make contact beyond that of his opponent, but he did succeed in taking off one of the gold buttons on the other’s vest. He smirked as if he would see the tide of battle now turn in his favor.

It was the closest he had come to scoring on his opponent and the very fact he had managed to get that close seemed to galvanize the small man into renewed action. Francisco barely felt the button leave his waistcoat. He was determined that no one would ever get that close to him again. With a sudden series of rapid attacks from seemingly all directions, Francisco pressed close to his opponent, his wrist moving rapidly and the point of his blade even faster. A button flew off the uniform of his opponent as well – touché! The officer was infuriated: the very movement he had used had been very cleverly used against him!

Monastario found himself moving from an offensive stance to strictly a defensive one. He had not believed that anyone, let alone a pompous musician could ever score one on him. In addition, it was beginning to become apparent that it was just quite possible that an end to the fight was in sight. He passed a table, grabbed a wine glass and hurled it at the other’s face. It sailed past. He moved behind the table but found it quickly upturned and used against him. He stumbled against a rock wall of the garden and recovered. He became angry and his wrath showed in his face. He paused and gave his sword a whirl as he contemplated his next move. His opponent noted his slight hesitation and was on him in a moment. Both men’s blades caught. Monastario attempted to use his greater height to his advantage and throw the small man off balance. When that failed, he took his left hand and punched the face of his opponent. The watching crowd gasped at the turn of events. Margarita felt as if her heart had leapt into her throat.

Francisco was stunned by the blow. He recognized instantly what happened and he knew what would follow: Monastario would attempt to run him through. With trained instinct, he turned to his right and moved his wrist in a sudden clockwise direction. He felt it catch the oncoming blade. So sudden was his movement that it wretched the sword out of Capitán Monastario’s hand and sent it flying.

A hundred pairs of eyes watched the officer’s blade sail off toward the high wall. A sigh simultaneously came from as many lips. Then the crowd was in an uproar. Many gave a rousing cheer: "Viva! Viva!"

Francisco approached the officer with his blade drawn, pointing at the other’s chest. "You understand that I demand satisfaction," Francisco told him in his deep baritone.

Monastario was stunned at the turn of events. Nevertheless, he puffed out his chest preparing to accept his fate. "Do your worst!" he declared.

"I expect not," the other replied with a certain disdain, "but one should die for a cause more worthwhile than simply being a vulgarian." He gestured with his sword. "Come this way." He poked the officer with the blade toward the open doors of the sala right off the patio.

Margarita still held her hands over her heart, grasping the medallion. Her eyes were full of tears as she watched the small man approach with Capitán Monastario in front of him.

"Halt," Francisco commanded. Monastario halted before the young woman. Francisco then came and stood at her side. "My satisfaction demands that you apologize to my wife and to myself," he declared, "And to this assembly of notables."

Monastario hesitated just a moment. He had not expected to escape with his skin and he was already planning his revenge. No musician, no matter how clever with the blade, would escape his wrath for long. Nevertheless, he bowed politely as if the altercation had never taken place. "My humble apologies, Señora, Señor, and assembled guests. My duty demands that I depart with my sergeant in service of the king." He almost smirked at that, but the small man was not yet finished.

"We will be unable to give you that pleasure as of yet," Francisco continued. "However, since you interrupted our recital, we must continue it. You will remain here as a member of the audience."

"And this is a further price you demand of me?" Monastario asked in cynical amusement. "What will you do to prevent me from recovering my blade?"

Don Alejandro and a dozen others stepped forward to offer their services. Before any could volunteer, a cultivated voice rang out above the others, "Perhaps I could be of service, Your Excellency."

Every man and woman in the room looked up and watched a tall man in black approach them from the patio. His sword was drawn.

"Zorro!" Monastario exclaimed. "Sergeant García, arrest this outlaw!" He looked around for a way to get hold of a sword. He approached Francisco. "Give me your sword! It is the outlaw, Zorro! Seize him!"

"I think not," the small man replied. "Señor Zorro, I hesitate to ask this of you since you are my guest, but perhaps you would not mind."

"Your **_guest_**?" Monastario reacted in dismay and anger.

"Not at all, Your Excellency," the man in black grinned. "As a matter of fact, it would give me much pleasure." He gestured with his sword toward an empty chair. "Have a seat, Capitán, and enjoy the show!"

****************

"The bird catcher, that’s me

I’m always happy, whoop-dee-dee!

As the bird catcher I am known

By young and old throughout the land.

Though what I’d really like is a trap for

Girls; I’d catch ‘em for myself

By the dozen.

I’d lock them up with me at home,’

And all those girls would be mine alone.

If all those girls were mine alone,

I’d trade a few for sweets and sugar, and

Then to my number-one favorite, I’d give

All the sweets she wanted.

And if she kissed me tenderly,

She would be my wife

And I her husband.

She’d fall asleep at my side,

And I’d rock her like a child.

Monastario kept his arms folded across his chest and rolled his eyes as García finished the song and commented under his breath, "A bird catcher…!"

Then García smiled. "There is one final song, Comandante," but he was not looking at Monastario when he said it. "I only remember two verses:"

"In these sacred halls

Revenge is unknown.

And if a man should fall,

Love leads him back to his duty.

Then he is taken by a friend’s hand,

Content and happy

To a better land.

Within these sacred walls,

Where each man loves his neighbor,

No traitor can lurk,

For our enemies are forgiven.

Anyone who does not delight in such teaching

Does not deserve to be called a ‘man.’ "

The burst of applause at the end of this song rolled around the room. No one but El Zorro heard his prisoner mutter "That is a treasonous song!"

"Come, come, Capitán," el Zorro chided him. "Surely even you know the song of Zarastro in the opera ‘The Magic Flute!’"

Monastario only fumed in impotent rage at the rendering of a republican-inspired aria, but there was nothing he could do with the blade of the Fox at his back.

César Rodríguez stood up and thanked the sergeant for his fine performance. Then he turned toward the small man and slender woman who had resumed their places, the young woman at the piano, and the man with his violin. "And now for the second half of our recital. Don Francisco and Doña Margarita will perform some very special music. It is music both for which they are known as well as which will be new and welcome for all of us."

**************

For Conchita Cortéz it was the fastest sewing job she ever did, but one she did with great pleasure. Juan Muñoz had deftly recovered his master’s gold button and gave it to Margarita. Conchita had volunteered at once to sew it back on the waistcoat. By the time Sergeant García was ready to begin to sing, everything was almost as it was before.

Margarita had given Francisco a cold damp cloth to refresh himself and worried over the blow he had received. In her relief, she finally threw her arms around his neck and gave him a heartfelt hug. Then, they made their way back to the sala where García began his solo. When he finished, he beamed at Don César for having accompanied him on a flute. All of the frowning Capitán Monastario aimed in his direction melted away with the applause. It would be an evening García would remember for a long time.

The strings of a violin sounded as a small man took up a violin and a slender woman sat down at the piano. Don Alejandro nodded as he recognized why the pieces were chosen: they allowed both players to compliment each other as well as to display their own instrument. The first piece was Beethoven’s Violin Sonatas, Op 12, 1-3, the first movement, and then the rondos. Margarita played with ease and it was clear to the listeners that they delighted in playing with each other.

Then the quintet came back together and played Flute Quintets, Op 17, Number 1 in D, Major, G419 with two violins, flute, viola and cello by Boccherini. Francisco played the flute, showing his mastery over the instrument and the delicacy with which he played.

Monastario yawned through his piece and El Zorro could only shake his head in disgust because the officer simply did not appreciate the level of musical talent he was witnessing. His mind was too full of thoughts of revenge for that. But he wasn’t the only one yawning: Monastario seemed to have his counterpart in the civilian, Miguel Cisneros.

Francisco was featured on the next piece, Mozart’s Adagio and Rondo for Flute Quartet in D, a charming piece that filled the room with its light quality. El Zorro glanced over at the native Californians and saw the expression on the face of the young boy who looked absolutely enraptured by the flute player. There was a wide smile on his face. Juan Muñoz accompanied this song with some very deft playing of the violin. A light and delightful piece, the listeners were captivated by its lilting melody.

Francisco played the latest songs from the virtuoso, Niccolo Paganini. They were his own improvisations, for Paganini rarely published, but the selections showed his own talent for violin playing – from the tenderest of moments to the most exuberant excitement possible on the instrument.

As the evening came to a conclusion, all of the players except Margarita left the quintet. She played her favorite pieces which included Bach, Beethoven and Mozart. Everyone knew that she played them for her friends and neighbors as a farewell. When she finished there was hardly a dry eye in the room. Los Angeles would never be the same. The last piece she played was Beethoven’s "Für Elise." Whenever Diego heard that tune afterwards, he would always remember Margarita.

All five musicians returned to their group and bowed deeply before the enthusiastic audience. Even Monastario applauded with the rest and attempted to rise. El Zorro kept him in his seat. "Surely, you will not forbid me to congratulate the musicians on a fine performance?" he smoothly asked the masked man.

The Fox merely gave a wide smile. "Have patience, Capitán," he told him. "You will get your chance, but later on."

*****************

Francisco and Margarita de las Fuentes approached the group of Indians who stood chatting with Padre Felipe. The pair was accompanied by Juan Muñoz who was very curious about what he had heard about "wild Indians."

"Thank you, Capitán," Grey Feather said by way of greeting the man in black and gold. "Thank you, Señora Capitán."

"It is I who must thank you, once again," Francisco said with great sincerity. "I would like to take this opportunity to ask you once again how I might repay you for all your kindnesses and the saving of my life."

Grey Feather thought a moment. "It is enough for my people to have received justice from you. If you wish to give something by which my people can remember you for all time, then I ask for that which we will always remember you – whenever the mockingbird raises his voice in song, whenever the river sings, whenever the breeze whispers in the leaves, whenever the bees find joy in the flowers." He pointed to an object on the piano. It was the violin.

Francisco nodded and Juan Muñoz retrieved the instrument at once, handing it to the small man. "Is this what you would like?" he asked.

"Yes, Capitán."

Miguel Cisneros was outraged as he watched the events unfold. "A heathen wanting a priceless object of our culture," he exclaimed. Others turned to watch how the small man would handle this unexpected request.

Juan Muñoz could not contain himself. With a little anxiety, he commented to the long-haired Indian, "This is His Excellency’s own violin, given to him by his grandfather. It is very valuable."

Grey Feather’s eyes were only on Francisco. He waited.

"Do you know how to play this?" Francisco asked solemnly, cradling the violin and bow.

"I will learn, Capitán," the old man said with determination.

"I have no doubt of it," Francisco smiled and handed the instrument to him. He knew the old man had saved his life and that each had given the other something of immense value – each to the other. "I give this to you in gratitude." He first presented the violin and then the bow.

Padre Felipe stepped forward. He was very pleased at the interaction between the two men. "I will be more than happy to see that Grey Feather gets instruction," he promised.

Francisco asked Juan to also bring him the flute. He then presented it to the young boy who looked it over in wonder. Then, from the folds of his clothing, the young man took a yellow reed flute and held it out.

"This is for you, Capitán," Blue Feather told him.

"I am honored," the small man told the boy. "I shall remember you and your people each time I play this." The boy smiled.

"And what can I possibly give you, Señor Juan?" asked Francisco at last turning to Blue Feather. "You took me to your people at great risk of your own life."

"You gave me justice, Your Excellency," Blue Feather told him. "That is enough for me." He paused, noting the young woman pulling at his deerskin cloak.

Margarita smiled at the young woman peeking behind Señor Juan. "I think your benefactress has a request, Francisco."

The Comandante smiled. "And what can I do for my faithful cook?"

Blue Feather leaned over and listened to the girl’s whispered words. He straightened up. "Little Sparrow wants that," he pointed at the object around Margarita’s neck. "She remembers it from your time in the cave."

Margarita lifted her hand to the medallion in a little shock. She considered it her own personal possession, a spiritual symbol of the man she loved. She looked into Francisco’s eyes and his expression told her that it was such a small thing. She did not wish to disappoint him. She pulled the medallion of Saint Francis of Assisi over her head, kissed it, and walked over to the young woman. Blue Feather moved a step and she placed it around the neck of the tiny Californian woman who was no taller than Ismaida. "This medallion is of Saint Francis, the saint of my husband," she told the young woman. "He loved animals, birds, and all people. He believed in kindness and justice. We wish to do the same." Margarita returned to the side of her husband wondering if the girl understood her.

Blue Feather nodded as the girl fingered the medallion in pleasure. "I will explain it to her, Señora. I will tell her your words. She wishes to remember forever the man who stayed with her people and shared their life."

Pilar Montoya watched the interaction of the native Californians with Francisco de las Fuentes and listened to his polished, gracious responses. She made her way over to the group while they exchanged gifts. After the Indians bowed and left the room, she approached the Comandante, his wife, and servant.

Francisco noticed her right away as she came forward – a woman in bright-colored skirts and long earrings. He bowed and kissed her hand.

Juan Muñoz shook his head in amazement at all he had witnessed thus far that evening. It was as if the world were stood on its head. In Spain, the Gypsy would be bowing and the Indians giving gifts, not receiving them.

"Good evening, Señora Montoya," Francisco greeted her. "I am honored that you attended our recital. This," he turned to his servant, "is my man, Muñoz."

The gypsy curtsied, giving the man with the ponytail a coy smile. "Oh, Comandante," she began. "You found the medallion I stole from you."

Juan’s eyebrows shot up. "Stole?"

The small man smiled. "But for a good cause, Señora. It helped save Margarita’s life and for that, I am grateful. I thought, at the time, that I had lost it. I discovered it around her neck on our wedding night." He smiled at Margarita who looked a little sad at its loss. He squeezed her hand to comfort her. "Now Saint Francis can help her people the way he helped us." Margarita looked up at him and smiled. He knew she accepted her loss with understanding.

Pilar decided to expound upon her exploits in front of the nice-looking man called Muñoz. "Well, it was a small thing considering that you also lost the curses of the witches and warlocks after our appeals to the angels to break their black curses upon you," she said. "I remember the days and nights you thought that you were on your way to Heaven, never to see your beloved Margarita again." She smiled at the young woman. "But Don Francisco fought against the bad spirits as well. With the magic of Grey Feather, and my own small contributions, he healed quickly and became as strong as the bear that had attacked him at the lake."

Juan Muñoz thought he had never heard such a colorful preamble to a request for a favor. He gave the grey-haired gypsy a long look.

"And I, as of yet, have not had the opportunity to ask you how to thank you for your kindness in saving my life. You were a stranger to me, yet came to my rescue," Francisco responded gracefully. He knew he had many debts to pay and did not want to neglect anyone.

"Ah," the gypsy waved her hand. "You are a good man, Don Francisco, and helped my friends, the Indians, who need a friend among the whites - an important friend who could render justice. It was my pleasure because you also answered my prayers for Joaquín who needed a good Comandante to give him justice."

"I wish Señor Enríquez well," Francisco told her. "I am only sorry that he has suffered in the past. I had hoped to see him again and assure him of his freedom."

"It was Joaquín who sent me to you," Pilar confided. ‘He said you were the only man who listened and treated him fairly in a very long time."

"For that, I am grateful," the small man told her. "But I still wish to reward you in some way."

The gypsy thought a moment, taking a long time, putting her hand to her chin and swaying back and forth a bit for the sake of Juan Muñoz. "Well," she began, "now that you mention it…"

Muñoz rolled his eyes.

"Now that you mention it," Pilar continued. "I wouldn’t mind a few coins to help restock my supply of herbs, candles, and sacred stones which are not too easy to find in California. And my saddle is in need of some repair…perhaps a local man who is skilled in such matters. My granddaughter shares these things with me. These are practical things, Capitán, and would be a great help should I find some unfortunate soul, like you, to help should he, or she, need it."

"Your request is modest and I am deeply touched by your desire to continue to do good," Francisco told her. "Please come by the cuartel tomorrow before mid-morning where I can fulfill my pledge to you in thanks."

Pilar curtsied deeply and threw Muñoz her most charming smile as she departed with a sweep of her shawl over her shoulders.

*********************

Capitán Monastario had watched with some interest at the unfolding of events in the room regarding the pockmarked man in black and gold. While he could not hear the conversation over the noise in the room, he watched in astonishment as the small man presented his violin and wife’s medallion to the Indians. He noted with disgust the gypsy’s appearance and the fact that the musician gave her his utmost attention and respect. How could such a man bow and kiss the hand of such a lower class woman, he thought. He did not notice the disappearance of the blade or its bearer behind him until Sergeant García approached him.

"Capitán Monastario," García began. "The Comandante has requested me to inform you that he has arranged a suitable room for you at the inn tonight."

"A room at the inn?" Monastario was distracted. He looked up and realized the Fox was no longer behind him. "Where did that bandit disappear to, Sergeant? Why didn’t you go after him, baboso?" He stood up and looked around.

"Well, Capitán," García explained. "I do not have my sword since I was a part of the presentation tonight."

"The presentation is over with," Monastario declared. He reached out and began to pull the red cloak off of the soldier. "Take off this ridiculous thing and get back into proper uniform - at once!"

"Sí, Capitán," García responded forlornly. The good times were coming to an end. "Oh, I forgot to mention that the Comandante ordered the best room in the inn for you and arranged for the men in the escort to be lodged there as well. He is paying for everyone’s breakfast."

"Good!" responded the young goateed officer. "At least this Comandante knows the right thing to do."

"Sí, mi Capitán," García continued. "And the Comandante requests that you report to the cuartel at eleven in the morning so that he can formally return command of the garrison of Los Angeles to you."

"Excellent, García," Monastario responded. "I look forward to meeting this Comandante. Now, go retrieve my sword. I will have use for it tomorrow when I give that musician a taste of what it is like to challenge the authority of the Comandante of the pueblo of Los Angeles!"

García handed him the sword and the officer resheathed it. "But, Capitán, you are not the Comandante…"

Monastario glared at the soldier. "Silence, stupid one! Tomorrow I shall only need to wait a little while before taking this fool into custody. I think I shall also charge him with the attempted murder of the Comandante. Then we can bury him in all his 18th century finery."

"Sí, Capitán," mumbled García. For once he was in no mood to enlighten Capitán Monastario and he felt no obligation to do so.

"Now, I will see where that bandit, Zorro, has gone to. Undoubtedly, he is still lurking about."

******************

Monastario opened the door to the patio violently and practically ran into a man in a black mask and cape.

"You are looking for me, Capitán?" he asked with a huge grin.

"Zorro!" exclaimed the young officer. He drew his sword quickly but the Fox was already forcing him back onto the patio with his blade.

"Zorro!" shouted García and the remaining guests in the sala flooded back onto the patio. There they witnessed the fiercest battle of the evening unfold before their eyes.

Francisco de las Fuentes hurried over himself. Margarita took his arm and whispered a few moments into his ear. The small man nodded and turned to the man behind him, Juan Muñoz. "This is the famous El Zorro," he told him.

"So, you are still seeking more punishment after your defeat earlier this evening," the Fox teased the officer, parrying his most violent slashes.

"It will be you who are punished, Señor Zorro!" Monastario countered. "You will learn from one who can teach you a few lessons."

"Oh, you mean our musician friend," Zorro replied as his wrist rolled and whipped around the blade of the other. "I learned just how low you will sink in trying to kill an honorable man – throwing table ware, punching him in the face. How shameless of you."

Monastario leveled his blade and charged his opponent. Zorro stepped lightly out of the way as the other swung around to continue his attack. "There is no shame in victory, only defeat!" the officer declared. "And winning is the only thing that matters." Their blades flashed even faster.

"It is to your discredit," the man in black said as he forced the other back towards the sala, "that you have never learned what it is to have honor, for victory without honor is no victory at all. It is only the triumph of barbarism." Their conversation was overheard by everyone.

The crowd spread out to give them more room and the candlelight of the sala and torches on the patio were reflected in the flash of steel. The steps of each man, back and forth, up and down, light and quick, danced over the stones.

Ismaida, Juanita and Josefina all watched with wide eyes as their hero in black matched every move of the garrison commander. "I’m so worried," Josefina said aloud.

"El Zorro will win!" declared Juanita.

"He must win!" Ismaida breathed holding her hand to her mouth. She was distracted by the voice of a man next to her. She looked up. At her side was Sergeant García.

"Do not worry, little one," he said. "Señor Zorro always wins."

They watched as the battling men headed back toward the gate of the patio. El Zorro backed toward the door and, with a sudden movement, Enríque Monastario lunged at him. The man in black stepped aside as the sword buried itself into the wooden gate. His own sword swept upward. "Another beautiful coupé to the wall. You really must show me how you do that!" the Fox laughed. The officer fruitlessly tried to pull his blade out, but the outlaw forced him back toward the sala.

Francisco de las Fuentes brushed past the defeated officer and approached the masked man. "Senor Zorro," he said, "you are the finest swordsman I have seen in a very long time. I am grateful that we never came to blows."

The knight in black bowed low before the small man. "And I, Your Excellency, as well. Your skill with the blade took more than a few by surprise tonight. It is good to see that such a blade works in the cause of justice."

"More than one sword is necessary to assure that justice is done," Francisco responded. "It will take many such swords to ensure that tyranny by force of arms – and tyranny imposed dishonorably – will never triumph."

"I salute Your Excellency," El Zorro responded with a wide smile. He turned to leave.

"Will we not see you again?" the small man asked.

"I promise I will appear for your departure," the masked man vowed and, with a sweep of his cloak, disappeared into the night.

"I believe that you shall," Francisco de las Fuentes declared, "and I look forward to it - and mourn it at the same time."

*************************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 42](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante42.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	42. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Forty-two**

It rained during the night, just as it had the day he arrived. It began with a heavy mist that left the leaves of the trees glistening and ended in a downpour. By dawn, the clouds moved eastward towards the inner valleys and the sun rose on a cloudless sky. The sparrows called to each other, flying from branch to branch, chattering in the cool morning air.

At the Posada y Bodega de los Angeles, the Comandante of Los Angeles and his wife took a leisurely breakfast of fruit, eggs, fresh bread and coffee. At their table were several guests including the Alcalde, his daughter, the Rodriguez family, the De la Vegas, and a few others. All of them accompanied the officer over to the cuartel after coffee. Outside the gates, the dons said their goodbyes until later that morning when the carriage would be ready that would take the Comandante to the port of San Pedro. Only Don Alejandro and his son, Diego, accompanied the captain and his wife inside.

The officer stopped half way to his office and looked around the cuartel – from the stables, to the soldier’s quarters with the red terra cotta roofs, to the well and up the high walls and back - before speaking. He turned to the slender woman at his side and remarked, "I have not been here very long, yet I find myself strangely fond of the pueblo of Los Angeles and her people."

"Strangely fond?" Margarita teased him.

Francisco de las Fuentes smiled as he gazed into her eyes. "Yes, strangely. I came here to what I thought was a temporary command – one in a long line of temporary commands. When informed of the fact there was no civil war here, I thought it a pleasant diversion in a quiet backwater of the Empire. I would pass the time leisurely before waiting another transfer. How little I could have imagined that so much could happen in my life in such a place." He turned as Don Alejandro spoke:

"We are very pleased to have shared our quiet little ‘backwater’ with you, Your Excellency, and wish that you could remain," the don declared with a twinkle in his eyes. There was a general nodding of heads.

Sergeant García approached the small group and saluted. "Good morning, Capitán de las Fuentes. There is someone waiting to see you in your office."

"Good morning, Sergeant García. Who is my visitor?" asked De las Fuentes pleasantly.

"It is the bandit, Enríquez, Capitán. He asked to see you before we put him in jail. I told him to wait a few momentos and you would return. Corporal Reyes is in with him to make sure he causes no mischief."

"I am sure that he will cause no mischief," the officer remarked.

"Well, perhaps, Comandante. You see, he is also accompanied by the gypsy, Señora Montoya."

"Perhaps he is turning himself in, Comandante," Diego suggested.

Before De las Fuentes mounted the steps to the Oficina del Comandante, Don Alejandro informed him, "Capitán de las Fuentes, I would like to inform you that Señor Enríquez returned the item that he ‘borrowed’ from me – the gold snuff box. My neighbors, Juan Villa and Don Leon also informed me that the items he stole were all returned to their homes."

De las Fuentes looked thoughtful. "Thank you, Don Alejandro. That is good to know." He paused. "All of you may come in since we are here on business." The door opened from within and a corporal saluted. The group accompanied the officer inside the door. "Good morning, Corporal Reyes," the officer acknowledged.

A man in a long wool serape stood up when the officer and his retinue entered the room. He was wearing black trousers, a striped shirt and was solemn. His tousled hair had been brushed and he had shaved at least two days before. At his side was the gypsy in her colorful skirts. She curtsied.

"Capitán de las Fuentes," Enríquez began in his direct manner and without ceremony. "I am here to see you."

"Señora Montoya, how delightful to see you again so soon," the officer greeted the woman and bowed slightly.

"May Heaven bless you," she smiled. She nodded toward the man at her side.

"Señor Enríquez, good morning," the officer responded. "What can I do for you?"

Enríquez looked surprised at his demeanor. For once he looked uncertain. "But, I am here to turn myself in, Capitán."

"As I understand it, all the items have been returned to their owners," De las Fuentes answered. When Enríquez looked puzzled, he added, "I learned only early this morning from Señora Montoya that these items were originally stolen from you – items you created yourself."

"I am sorry I had to steal them back," the man with the large teeth explained. "It was something I had to do in order to purge the demons of my past. No one would have understood my motivations and so, I offered no explanations. I did not intend to keep them." He paused as the gypsy put her arm through his. "I am prepared to accept whatever punishment you will give me because I know that you are a just man."

Francisco understood what it meant to purge demons. He looked up at the taller man. "Considering the circumstances, and the fact that you have already served time in jail, including being whipped, I see no reason not to free you now."

Joaquín Enríquez looked stunned a moment. He was not certain how to respond. He had prepared himself for the worst, despite Pilar’s encouraging words. "Free?" he asked in amazement. "You won’t even flog me?"

De las Fuentes cleared his throat. "I am not in the habit of behaving like a barbarous man," he said simply. He walked over to the desk, opened the top drawer, and withdrew a piece of folded parchment. He walked back over to the vaquero-craftsman. "I think you will find this of benefit to you. A copy is being forwarded to the government in Monterey."

Enríquez took the document and opened it. He raised his eyebrows as he read. The gypsy moved closer to read it with him and smiled. The man shook his head in disbelief. "This is for me? You would declare me an innocent man, not a bandit, not an outlaw?"

"I would like to ask you to join me, Señor Enríquez. Come, join me in Spain. Become part of my staff. As a man who has suffered much injustice, you would be in a unique position to help others by recognizing injustice when you see it or hear of it."

There was a long silence after the officer spoke. Margarita, Diego, Don Alejandro, and Corporal Reyes all looked at the vaquero and back to the officer several times. De las Fuentes waited courteously and patiently for a reply.

Finally, Joaquín spoke. He was greatly moved and not sure how to respond.

"You really honor me, Capitán de las Fuentes. I had not expected anything like this."

"You would not be just an ordinary servant" De las Fuentes added, hoping to encourage him. "You would be a part of my household. I have physicians who could care for you whenever you suffer from your malady. More importantly, you could be a voice for those who have none in our councils, which reach into the heart of the Spanish government."

Then, with a characteristic look in his eye, Enríquez grinned. He shook his head slightly. "That’s the nicest offer anyone has ever made me, Capitán, and I admit it’s tempting, very tempting. But, you see, I have to say no." He noted the look of surprise on the faces of the men surrounding the officer. "Oh, I’d love being the critic with no fear of retribution, but you see, Your Excellency, it wouldn’t be my style. I wouldn’t want to become a ‘stuffed shirt,’ another sycophant – there are enough of those as it is in government. I don’t think I could stand being around people like that. Here in California," he paused. "Here in California, there are many possibilities. Besides," he added puffing his chest out, "what would become of California if I left her? El Zorro can’t fight injustice all by himself!"

Diego could barely suppress a smile at those words. He glanced at his father. There was a big grin on the face of the white-bearded ranchero. Don Alejandro shook his head and glanced at his son. He saw a pair of raised eyebrows.

Pilar Montoya stepped forward. "And thank you, Comandante, for helping Joaquín. He is really a good man."

"Señora Montoya," replied Francisco de las Fuentes, "you have been a guardian angel for many here in the pueblo and a friend to the native Californians who have needed a friend among the Spanish. I do not believe that the few coins you asked for are adequate enough for all the good you have done."

"Capitán, you gave me a very generous bag of coins this morning – more than enough to pay for all my herbs and stones and a saddle. It is enough."

There was a knock at the door of the Oficina. Reyes opened it. Gonzales, the blacksmith and his son, Pepe, stepped in. "Good morning, Capitán de las Fuentes, Señores," they greeted the group. "Good morning Señora de las Fuentes."

"Good morning," the officer and his lady replied in chorus with the others.

"We have brought the horse and saddle as you requested," Gonzalez said.

"Thank you," De las Fuentes responded. "I believe that this lady here," he indicated the gypsy, "is in need of a mount for herself. You should turn it over to her."

Pilar looked surprised and very pleased. She left Joaquín’s side at once. "A horse, just for me! Now my daughter can have mine. Oh, thank you, Capitán de las Fuentes. May the Saints protect you! May the sprites of happiness follow you forever. May you have one hundred children!" She grabbed his hand and kissed it many times. The González men grinned and followed her out the door, bowing as they left.

"She’s very happy," Margarita smiled. "How generous of you, Francisco!"

"I can thank Don Alejandro for selecting a fine mount for her," her husband told her. "The distances here are vast and to travel far in order to heal others requires a good steed."

"I was only too happy to be of service, Don Francisco," Alejandro told him. "Señora Montoya and her daughter, Marya, have experienced similar injustices due to prejudices against Gypsies and many will not provide them services. What you have done helps in more ways than just the obvious."

Joaquín Enríquez was reading the pardon over and over as if he could not believe what he was reading. He finally folded the paper and approached the officer. "Could I make a final request of you, Capitán de las Fuentes?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," the officer responded. "What would you like?"

"Just to shake your hand," the vaquero responded. "One man to another. To thank you for all that you have done for so many people, especially the Indians and me. There are not too many men like you. I wish there were more."

Francisco stuck out his hand. He gave Joaquín a long, firm handshake. "There are good men," he responded. "They just need to learn how to stand together and fight those who act unjustly and who preach injustice." He turned to the De la Vegas. "These are good, outstanding gentlemen," he added, indicating the don and his son. "They, with many others here in Los Angeles, are the kind of men that you wish for."

"Watch out," Enríquez said with a cheerful grin to Don Alejandro as he walked out the door. "I might just be back. If you ever need someone like me, just call, and I’ll return to join you."

"How will we know where to reach you?" asked Diego.

"Just ask Pilar," the vaquero answered. And he was gone.

When the door closed, Diego turned toward the officer. "I saw Dr. Aguilera this morning. He told me you had paid him a visit as well."

"He helped to save the life of Margarita," Francisco explained, "and I am not one to neglect anyone who worked so diligently to save her life. Doctor Aguilera was very apologetic and did not wish to accept my thanks, saying that he regretted that he had made the decision to take off my leg. If he had done so, he said, I might not be here today. I thanked him for allowing Señora Montoya to aid him, and for his efforts on my behalf. Everything has turned out well. I bear him no ill will, only gratitude."

Margarita squeezed his arm and beamed.

There was another knock on the door.

"It would seem you have many visitors today, Comandante," Diego smiled as Reyes opened the door again.

This time it was De las Fuentes’ turn to look very surprised. "Do come in," he said to his visitor and turned to give the De la Vegas a look of amazement.

The man stepped in and took off his hat. In his hand was a long object wrapped in an old blanket. Tomás Robello looked around a little uncertainly. Behind him stood Sergeant García. "Here is the prisoner who escaped from the search party, mi Capitán," he announced.

"Señor Robello, please come in," Francisco asked courteously. "Are you here to turn yourself in?"

"I probably should not have come back," Robello replied, "but I heard that you had returned – and married the Señorita Pérez. I thought perhaps you might want to get your sword back. I found it in the field near the lake after I escaped. I kept it a long time – I don’t know why. Something told me I should come back, even if you put me in jail again." He handed De las Fuentes the weapon.

The officer unwrapped the coarse blanket and inspected the sword with delight, noting that it had dirt and mud on it, but no damage. It could be cleaned and would soon shine again.

While he was inspecting it, Diego asked him, "Señor Robello, where have you been all this time?"

The vaquero shrugged. "Off to the south, riding some cattle herds to market. I made a little money." He hesitated, "But not enough to pay off the fines."

Francisco looked up at these words. He went over to the desk and placed the sword on top of it. He pulled out a ledger from a desk drawer and walked back over to the vaquero.

"Señor Robello, I must thank you for the return of my sword. It is more valuable than you know. I was given this fine weapon by my father and have carried it with me through the wars and here to the New World. Before my father, it belonged to my grandfather who was a fine musician, diplomat and general. It is worth hundreds of pesos, if not more."

"Oh," Robello responded, playing with the idea that, if he had known the value of such a sword, he might have … He could only shrug his shoulders. "Es la vida – that’s the breaks."

The captain leafed through the ledger. "However, you did do a great deal of work here in the cuartel that included whitewashing the walls, repairing bridles and tack, and cleaning the yard. At decent wages, that would have covered most of your fines since their reassessment."

"Most of the fines?" asked Robello. He could imagine all his recent wages disappearing into the strong box in the comandante’s desk, plus more time in the jail.

"How much money did you earn riding cattle?" Diego asked.

"Fifteen pesos," the vaquero answered reluctantly.

"It appears that after all your work, you still owe fifteen pesos, including the five you owe Señor Ledesma," De las Fuentes informed him.

The vaquero looked unhappy, but pulled the fifteen pesos out of a small bag in his short jacket. "It’s all that I have," he complained.

"I will take five for Señor Ledesma, five for the fines, and leave you with five," the Comandante informed him. He saw the look of surprise on the vaquero’s face. "This is because Señor Benito Ávila returned the ten pesos awarded him from the hearing and asked that it be used towards your fines and those of Señor Ledesma. This means that five are used towards your debt. With these ten pesos, you now owe nothing." He handed the vaquero back the bag.

Tomás Ledesma could not believe his good fortune. He opened the bag and counted the five pesos left in it. He slipped the bag into his inside jacket pocket. There was a big smile on his face. "Thank you, Capitán. I guess returning the sword was a good idea, eh? Nothing like a good reward?" he hinted.

De las Fuentes was solemn. "I expect that is a good idea. I will instruct Señor Pacheco to set aside two bottles of his superior wines…" he saw the vaquero grin hugely, "…for Señor Ledesma and Señor Ávila from you. This will be your thanks to them for all the services they have rendered you over the years."

Robello looked crestfallen. "Sí, Comandante." He turned toward the door. As he opened it, De las Fuentes added, "Do not be downcast, Señor Robello. The bottles of wine are for your friends in your name only. They have already been paid for."

"Señor Robello," added Don Alejandro. "Remember to report tomorrow morning for work at my rancho. Despite your recent absence, you are still in my employ."

Robello left with a cheerful grin. He had not done so badly after all.

"I think you have just made another vaquero happy," Diego mused. "There will be much good will for you long after you leave us."

"I believe in the philosophy of that great Greek, Hippocrates," Francisco responded. "Do the least harm in your life and in how you treat others. If we can add justice to it, then we are moral beings."

******************

Capitán Enríque Monastario saw a man in a pony tail crossing the plaza ahead of him toward the cuartel. The officer recognized him from the previous night’s recital at the home of César Rodríguez. "You, there! Say, you, Musician. Halt!"

The man looked back over his shoulder and saw a tall, slender man in uniform approach him from behind. In one hand was a leather bag with a strap. The officer’s other hand was on the hilt of his sword. The man with the ponytail slowed down and turned back. "Are you addressing me, Señor Capitán?"

"Are you deaf?" the officer responded aggressively. "Did I not just address you as ‘Musician’?"

"You may have addressed me as such, Señor, but I am not a musician by profession," answered the man in the ponytail with dignity. "I am Muñoz."

"I have some business with your friend, the violinist," Monastario continued. "Where is he at?"

"I expect he is at the cuartel," Juan Muñoz answered

"Good!" replied the officer. "I can deal directly with him there." He imagined himself shoving the pompous musician into the dirtiest jail cell before preparing to hang him. Trumped up charges were almost second nature to his mode of operation and he took great personal pleasure in their formulation and results.

Juan Muñoz shook his head. _No wonder the people of this town are so happy with my master_ , he thought. _May you get what you deserve from El Zorro after we leave._

*******************

Sergeant Demetrio García López was smiling in the cool air of the morning. It was very pleasant to see so many people leave the comandante’s office with smiles on their face. He felt an intensity of personal loyalty to the man who dispensed so much justice. How relaxing it was to look around the cuartel - with its new whitewashed look, at the soldiers chatting with each other as they performed their duties, at the two guards who snapped to attention as a man, saluting, strode through the gates with a familiar stride. García suddenly felt an alarm bell sound as if from a church. He was startled out of his complacency by a voice that rang out "García!"

He hurried over to the familiar figure. "Welcome back to the cuartel, Capitán Monastario…" he began.

Monastario’s eyes flicked over what he saw – the order and cleanliness – and he nodded – until his eyes alighted on the empty jail cells. "What is going on here?"

"I do not understand, Capitán…" García responded defensively. "What can be wrong?"

"’What can be wrong?’" the officer mimicked sarcastically. "Where are all the prisoners? There is only one in prison."

"Well, Capitán, they paid all their fines and have been released from jail."

"Oh," Monastario responded, thinking how full the strong box must be. Then he remembered that the Comandante was paying for the room and meals that he and his late escort enjoyed from the night before. _So that’s how he used up all my money_ , he thought. "Where is the officer in charge?"

García sighed. "In the comandante’s office."

"And what is his name?"

"He is Capitán Francisco de las Fuentes. He is a….."

"That’s enough, García. You may accompany me to the office."

********************

The door opened in response to his knock and Enrique Monastario frowned at once to see the room filled with his enemies, the De la Vegas. He looked around for the musician but saw no one else. "Where is Capitán de las Fuentes?" he demanded upon returning Reyes’ salute.

"He is in the comandante’s quarters for just a moment," the corporal replied.

"Good!" Monastario replied. "I shall need his assistance while I arrest that traitorous violinist. Perhaps we can even have a hanging to celebrate his departure from the pueblo of Los Angeles."

Francisco de las Fuentes had left momentarily to double check the room he was vacating. He was distracted by the conversation in the office, and forgot all about what he was currently doing.

Capitán Monastario bowed slightly to the woman. "Ah, Señora." He paused. "Are you here to plead on behalf of your husband?" When she just smiled and did not answer, he turned back to the De la Vegas. "And what are you doing here?" he asked.

Before the men could response, Monastario heard quiet steps descend from his quarters and turned to face the officer he would meet. He did a double take when he stared at the face of the man who approached him. The features – the long hair, the pock-marked face, and the small stature – were unmistakable. For once, Enrique Monastario, was left without words.

García stepped forward. "Your pardon, Comandante. Capitán Enríque Monastario Sánchez just arrived this moment. He is here to…"

Monastario interrupted him, "Silence, idiot!" He was staring at De las Fuentes. "You? **_You_** are the Comandante?"

"Good morning, Capitán Monastario," Francisco responded formally and politely. "Yes, I am the Comandante. I welcome you back to Los Angeles."

"But, you are the man I fought last night," Monastario continued in consternation. He could hardly believe the fact. He caught himself. "No wonder you are such a fine swordsman. I did not think that a mere musician could handle the blade so well."

"His Excellency is no ‘mere musician,’" Diego interrupted, much to Monastario’s irritation. Margarita smiled at his words and raised her hand to her mouth.

Monastario threw Diego a warning glance. He turned his attention back to the small man. "I returned from the conference as quickly as possible. My delay was due to the fact that I was entrusted by the Governor and the Viceroy to deliver these important documents into your hands," he proclaimed with much self-importance. "Due to the heavy seas and storms around Monterey, the ship with these documents had to make landfall in San Francisco. I traveled to the cuartel there to await them and have only now just returned." He handed the leather bag to De las Fuentes.

"Thank you for your courtesy," Francisco replied. He went to the desk and opened the bag. Margarita joined him, looking over his shoulder. He took out three documents, appraising each one, and placed them in order of their importance on the desk. He broke the wax seal of the first document, opened the envelope, unfolded the paper and read it carefully. Then he looked up. He addressed the De la Vegas.

"This is a letter from my father. It says that the political situation at home is grave. It seems that a faction of the army led by young officers is in revolt against the king. They wish to proclaim a republic. The king is rallying all monarchists in defense of the throne. He says that the king has decided to rescind all punishments and pardon all monarchists for small infractions."

Diego and Alejandro joined the officer at the desk.

Francisco handed the letter to Margarita. He then picked up the second document. It bore the royal seal of His Majesty Ferdinand VII. He looked up at the De la Vegas a moment before removing the document from the envelope. He opened it and, likewise, read it slowly and carefully. When he finished reading, he handed it to Don Alejandro. "This is the equivalent of a pardon saying there will be no further incidents to divide a king from his loyal subjects." There was more than a hint of irony in his words.

Don Alejandro read it while the officer opened the final document. A knowing smile crossed the officer’s face.

When Alejandro finished, he handed it to his son, Diego. "This is good news, Your Excellency," he said rather diplomatically. He guessed at what De las Fuentes really thought of the king’s proclamation.

The third document caused Francisco much amusement. It was a letter from the Governor of the Viceroyalty of Peru. He turned to Margarita and explained: "This is a letter from the Governor in Lima. He says that he remembers with great affection the musical recitals I organized there. He sends greetings from the priest, Padre Ignacio, who loaned me the use of his pianoforte which I almost wore out with my practicing."

Margarita threw him a surprised look. "Oh, the man who had not practiced in such a long time," she teased.

He smiled mischievously as well. "And, by the way, the three men who attacked me that dark night in Lima turned out to be the most ruthless robbers in the city. Apparently, everyone celebrated their demise, knowing that, now, the subjects of the king could rest securely in their beds with the end of such terror. The governor thanks me for freeing them from the fear of these notorious murderers. He wishes me well and hopes that we will meet again." He smiled and folded the letter. This time he placed it in his ammunition pouch that carried no ammunition. "No more witches or warlocks," he remarked almost to himself thoughtfully.

The De la Vegas grinned. The facts – and reason - triumphed over superstition. The road ahead was clear.

"And now," Francisco de las Fuentes said, picking up his hat and placing it on his head, "it is time to say ‘Good-bye.’" He took Margarita’s arm in his and together they walked toward the door. García snapped to attention and opened it himself.

Capitán Monastario had the impression that he had been left out of everything. As a matter of fact, he had been conspicuously ignored.

********************  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 43](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante43.htm)**  
---  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


	43. Zorro

Zorro

**Zorro & the Old Comandante**

**by**

**Eugene H. Craig**  
  
---  
  
**Chapter Forty-three**

The soldiers of the cuartel stood lined up in a row as if for inspection. Outside a large crowd had gathered, watching the events inside the garrison’s high stone walls. The sun was reaching toward noon now, and its warm rays bathed the subjects of the king in a soft glow in the cool air.

Enrique Monastario was irritated by all the formal pomp and circumstance accorded the departing officer. It was really overdone, he thought _. This fellow must imagine himself to be some kind of prince or lord_. He watched as Capitán de las Fuentes gave a heartfelt thanks to all the soldiers for their loyalty and courage. He listened as the officer recalled the nightly patrols, the hunt for him at the lake, and the constant vigilance in a time of danger. He was particularly disgusted when he heard the small man praise the personal loyalty and fidelity of Sergeant García and Corporal Reyes. Monastario only rolled his eyes at the praise for these men whom he considered bumbling idiots and fools. De las Fuentes ended by saying that he saluted them all as outstanding soldiers of the king and he wished that they never forget the gratitude of a grateful kingdom and prince. To Monastario’s consternation, the soldiers cheered the officer enthusiastically. Then, breaking all tradition, De las Fuentes embraced the sergeant – a ridiculous sight, thought Monastario – and corporal. He did not hear the officer tell them that there was something special for them at the inn. He only saw García’s curious expression when the ceremony concluded. Despite the two soldiers’ requests, he refused to allow them to accompany the officer and his wife to the Port of San Pedro. He made the refusal curtly and deliberately in front of Francisco and Margarita de las Fuentes. He made the remark that they had more important things to do than coddle Indians and Gypsies, and release criminals from jail.

Don Francisco’s temper finally boiled over. He made a decision. "Capitán Monastario, before departing this most loyal province, I would like a word with you in private." He said it courteously and politely.

Monastario nodded curiously. Even before the door closed behind them, Diego heard the words, "Men like you, Señor, do more harm to the cause of monarchy than all the Republicans combined!"

After more than a few minutes, Diego looked around and casually strolled the few yards over to the Oficina del Comandante. He went to the window and heard the last words of Francisco de las Fuentes. The words were from a poem written in praise of a reforming and well-meaning minister of the former king, Carlos IV, Manuel Godoy. Francisco intoned:

Power is not assured by violence

Nor does the horror of torture sustain it,

Nor armed troops of horse;

Where love was lacking, force is in vain.

You know this, and by your actions

You set an example. You protect

Hidden virtue and innocence. If merit

Has been overlooked, you reward it;

Under your shelter literature flourished,

You applaud zeal and pardon error,

You received the recompense for your judgments

In the inner pleasure your heart feels.

Diego knew this poem, these words, would be lost on a man like Monastario, but he respected the prince even more for the dressing-down he gave the Comandante that followed the poem. Diego left with a smile. He knew that even Enrique Monastario would be left speechless by the rebuke of such a man and a prince.

It did not seem to matter how much Enríque Monastario fumed at this parting. Over half the town accompanied the De las Fuentes entourage to the port of San Pedro. That entourage consisted of Francisco, Margarita, her mother, María, her servant, Martín, and last, but not least, Juan Muñoz. The crowd also took great pleasure in watching Salvador Muñoz escorted onto the ship of Capitán Aristotle Silva by his father and the Alcalde. Once again, they would witness the kind of justice that many longed to see and would not see again for many months to come.

As their horses cantered alongside the De las Fuentes carriage, Diego turned to his faithful servant, Bernardo. He knew what he had to say would not be overheard in the noise of the crowd.

"You know, Bernardo," the young man confessed, "I neglected to tell you the story about how the incriminating document against Sebastian Pérez was obtained by El Zorro for the trial of Salvador Muñoz."

Bernardo raised a hand from the reins and raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, so you wondering how such a miraculous document could be found?"

The mozo nodded his head. Their two mounts almost touched as the young man told him. "It seems that a certain bandit in black was headed to the business office of Señor Pérez. He was not sure what he would be looking for. When he arrived – on a hunch – he found a stranger there going through the drawers of a desk. The stranger pulled out some sheets of parchment, read them, and put them in his coat. Perhaps he was a robber, the bandit thought. Then, El Zorro revealed himself. He stopped the stranger and challenged him. When the man asked who he was, the bandit said he was El Zorro."

The mozo was definitely interested in the story. He continued to watch his young master intently. He motioned with his hand several times for his master to continue.

Finally, the young man burst into a grin and continued. "Now, what happened next? The stranger told El Zorro that he was there to protect his brother, Felix Muñoz. He told the bandit of Señor Pérez’s plan to take over the business and of his suspicions. After a long talk, it was agreed to turn the document over to El Zorro who would appear in court and show who the real plotter – and criminal – behind the scenes was."

Bernardo looked very impressed and shook his head in agreement when Diego added, "Juan Muñoz smelled a rat and wanted to find the evidence for the trial." He paused and gave the mozo a look of affection. "Like you, my friend, Juan Muñoz is a most faithful and loyal servant of his master, Prince Alfonso, or should I say, Don Francisco. Both of us could have no better a friend."

*********************

Back in Los Angeles, Sebastian learned of his wife’s decision to leave him and to go to Spain with Margarita and her new husband. He was furious. He was further incised to learn that his servant, Martín, had decided to go with them as well. But, that wasn’t the worst of the news. As he watched the crowd depart with the Comandante, Don Diego de la Vega had spotted him and rode over on horseback for a few words.

"Good afternoon, Don Sebastian," the young man had greeted him.

The businessman only grumbled a reply.

"You know, it is really too bad that you made such an unwise decision in selecting a son-in-law," Diego said conversationally.

"What do you mean by that?" Sebastian had demanded.

The young man smiled down at him from the Palomino. "Why, haven’t you heard the news? It seems that Capitán de las Fuentes is not who he appears to be."

"Ah, an imposter!" declared Sebastian triumphantly.

"Most certainly an imposter…well, in a way," Diego informed him. "It seems that the king of Spain sent Don Francisco on an extraordinary mission to the New World. He was a man in disguise, not a capitán at all."

Pérez wanted to know who Don Francisco really was.

"Why, a member of one of the richest families in Spain! Of the family of De las Fuentes y Alarcón."

Pérez’s mouth dropped open at that.

"Have you ever heard of them?" Diego teased, enjoying the moment.

"Everyone knows of that family," Sebastian said in amazement. "High nobility. I don’t believe it!"

"Well, Señor Pérez, it is true." He paused. "You know, it’s a real shame – for you, that is – that you disinherited your daughter. A real case of bad timing, I would say. Now, she is a countess and will perhaps become one of the most famous pianists in Spain with the help of her husband. And you, well, you are no longer her father, and she is no longer your daughter. Just think of the lifestyle you would have attained with such in-laws!" He paused. "Oh, how tactless of me. Well, I hope you will excuse me. I have to accompany my father to the port of San Pedro to send off the prince and his bride."

*****************

Later that afternoon, Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes sat in the Posada of Los Angeles. Both of them found some free bottles of quality wine set aside for them from Capitán de las Fuentes. Both soldiers raised their mugs in a toast to the generosity of the Comandante. Señor Pacheco poured the wine himself. He told Reyes that, sad for him, it was the end of all the free wine for corporals. When the soldiers looked rather forlorn at this news, the innkeeper told them of the value of the wine they were drinking. Reyes sipped his wine, savoring every drop. Garcia downed his. He would always swill wine.

****************

Capitán Enrique Monastario found the portrait leaning against the side of the dresser. He had not noticed it until he began unpacking his bag. He picked it up and grimaced when he saw who was in the painting. He frowned even more as he studied the man with the gold epaulets and golden sash in a general’s uniform and recognized the man who had just vacated the office of Comandante.

Later that afternoon, he had handed the portrait to Sergeant García with the words, "Get rid of this, Sergeant."

García had saluted and left, but he took the portrait to his own room and put it up on his dresser. He thought about what to do with the painting. If Capitán Monastario ever saw it in his quarters…well, García did not want to even think about it. Then, he had an idea: he would give the portrait of Capitán de las Fuentes and the countess to Don Diego de la Vega. He would tell his friend that the Comandante had accidentally left it behind. He would suggest to the don that perhaps a portrait painter in town could paint in the face of the Señorita Pérez over the face of the woman. And he would ask Don Diego that, whenever he felt down, perhaps he could look again at the portrait of the Comandante who had told him that he was a fine soldier of the king.

*****************

Sebastian Pérez was still in a state of shock about what he learned. That pompous, know-it-all of a comandante turned out to be a member of one of the most powerful noble families in Spain; a man who was a possibly a prince; a man whose power, influence, and wealth must be beyond the imagination of a man like this petty merchant. But Sebastian had disinherited Margarita and now he had no claim on her or on De las Fuentes. Even his wife and servant had left him, sailing back to Spain with Margarita.

Sebastian slowly climbed the stairs and walked past Margarita’s room. He paused and turned back. He opened the door. He went inside. Nothing of hers remained except the empty furniture; he had ordered it. Well, almost nothing remained. Up against the wall, opposite the bed, was her piano. He stared at several music sheets arranged above the ivory keys. Maria had once told him that one day he might just miss her and that piano. Sebastian sat down on the wooden bench and his hands moved across the keyboard, lightly touching the keys and listening to their sad plink.

*********************

On the wooden deck of the tall masted ship that would take them back to Spain, Francisco de las Fuentes stood on deck with his Margarita. Their arms were interlocked. Both wore heavy wool cloaks. A stiff sea breeze blew across the bows from a chilly ocean. Most of the passengers had retreated to their quarters below. Only a few remained aloft.

Juan Muñoz also watched the ship depart from the wharf and begin the long journey to the south, to Mexico. He could not hear the words exchanged between the prince and his wife. He turned and smiled at the woman standing next to him, María Pérez.

Francisco put his arm around Margarita’s waist and talked in her ear. "While I am looking forward to our return to Spain, I am also reluctantly leaving California." He paused. "I will always think of this land with much affection for here I learned much about myself and the need to act decisively to administer justice. I learned much about California and the honor of Californians – both native and Spanish." He paused. "I had only hoped to see El Zorro before we departed."

Margarita nodded. "He told you that he would appear. I looked for him as well, but never saw him. Perhaps it was too dangerous for him to come. There are soldiers at the port."

"When I last saw Don Diego, I mentioned to him the fact that I would like to offer to El Zorro a position on my staff so that he and his talents could be used for justice in Spain."

Margarita was overcome with curiosity about her best friend. "What did Diego say?"

"He told me that he was sure that El Zorro would be honored, yet, like Señor Enríquez, he most likely would prefer to remain in California to fight tyrants like Capitán Monastario. He then removed his glove and shook my hand most sincerely. That act left me with a most distinct impression."

"Do you think anyone will ever discover who El Zorro really is?" asked the young woman.

"I believe that I now know who he is," Francisco told her mildly. "A man of incredible courage and honor, but one who no one would ever suspect."

"Why, who could he be?" she asked in surprise. "No one I know could ever match the courage and skill of El Zorro."

"It is only a suspicion," Francisco confessed, "but I will keep it to myself. I would not reveal the identity of such a man – for the sake of his safety as well as for the well-being of others. I will only say that I am grateful to all his acts of kindness and loyalty despite our differences."

"What differences could you two possibly have?" Margarita smiled. "After all, both of you are heroes to me."

Her husband smiled. "I am a monarchist who despises the monarchy, and he is a republican who does all that he can to uphold the justice of the king’s laws," he answered.

"Oh, but then you two **_do_** have much in common," she pointed out, "for each of you try to uphold that which is the most just in law as well as in moral teachings."

"As a matter of fact, it was El Zorro who suggested the punishment for Salvador Muñoz," he told her. He watched the surprise on her face. "El Zorro told me that perhaps it would be best to give Salvador a taste of his own medicine. It did not take much imagination to understand what that entailed. Most importantly, this solution would save his family’s self-esteem and honor. I had to find a way to do just this, not only for the sake of Don Felix, but for my man, Juan Muñoz. I have much to be grateful for – and from this man known as an outlaw." Both of them laughed quietly at that designation.

There was a rustle of a dress and María Pérez came up on them. "Now just what are you two doves chatting about all this time?" she asked.

"Oh, we’re just enjoying the sea breeze, Mother," Margarita smiled, winking at Francisco. "And what have you been thinking about as you watch the waves glide by?"

María Pérez smiled. "Our first visit to Spain. It’s like a dream come true." Actually, she had been thinking, just momentarily, about a man who paced a now empty sala in a modest home not far from the plaza of the pueblo of Los Angeles. She had no regrets.

Juan Muñoz joined the trio. "They say that in leaving a good port, one should make a wish," he told the group. "The sailors told me it is for good luck."

Francisco and María smiled at this superstition, but Margarita closed her eyes and intoned "I make a wish."

"What are you wishing for, Margarita?" asked her mother.

"For Zorro to appear, Mother," the young woman answered. "Now, what do you wish for, Francisco?"

He closed his eyes and said solemnly, in his deep baritone, "For the wish of my darling wife, Margarita, to come true." He opened his eyes and winked at the others.

*****************

And far out on a coastal road, a rider in black watched a Spanish ship sail southward. When he reached a high bluff up over the sea, he paused, waiting for the ship that he knew would soon pass by, for Spanish ships always hugged the coastline. When at last the ship appeared, men on board and their passengers noted a silhouetted figure that stood out on the high rocks. The strong breeze that blew past him carried the salty smell of the sea, whipped the cape he wore behind him like a banner, and made the man appear larger than life.

There was a general waving of hands, hats and scarves. Francisco de las Fuentes waved his hat, Margarita her scarf, and María her kerchief. Crewmen climbed the rigging to get a better view of the legendary hero. It was a scene they would remember for the rest of their lives and tell their children about.

As for El Zorro, he reared his black stallion again and again, giving a final farewell with a wave of his hand before turning and disappearing into the wooded surroundings. Already he would be needed again in Los Angeles to further the cause of justice that he served so well.  
  
---  
  
**[Chapter 1](http://bookscape.net/authors/oldcomandante1.htm)**  
---  
[**Zorro Contents**](http://bookscape.net/zorrocontents.htm)  
[**Main Page**](http://bookscape.net/index.htm)


End file.
